Shattered
by Minyasta
Summary: Faramir thought that he would have Éowyn forever, but he was wrong. When his beloved wife dies in childbirth, Faramir becomes a broken man. His life is utterly shattered, and no one is sure that he will ever be able to put it back together again. COMPLETE
1. Gone

Chapter I – Gone

While the greatest lords of Gondor deliberated, the door of the Council chambers slipped open to admit a slender young man draped in the robes of a healer. He went unnoticed as he lingered in the corner of the room hesitantly, waiting for his moment to interrupt the King and his advisors.

"This is folly!" cried Lord Glosfalath, his lips drawn tight with anger. "Surrendering South Gondor to Harad? Our people have fought for years to maintain Gondor's claim over that land! Will we allow their deaths to have been in vain?"

"'Our' people, Glosfalath?" Prince Elphir questioned, raising an eyebrow. "It is the men of Dol Amroth who have fought and died in South Gondor. As their lord, I tell you: I do not believe that surrendering the land will, by any means, suggest that their deaths were in vain. It is a small sacrifice to pay for peace."

"A small sacrifice?" spoke up Lord Orodreth. "That land stretches leagues and leagues, from Belegaer to the borders of Khand!"

"We know _where _the land is, thank you, Orodreth," scoffed Lord Dervorin. "I stand with the King in this matter."

"That's not surprising, Dervorin, as I have never heard you say otherwise while we sit in the King's Council chambers," Glosfalath sneered under his breath.

Faramir glanced at Aragorn. The King had been willing to sit for a while and listen to the bickering of the lords, but now it was clear that he was agitated by the response to his proposal. Faramir cleared his throat imperiously, and the others fell silent at once. Aragorn gave his Steward a look of gratitude and paused for a moment before speaking.

The healer in the corner took the chance to slip quietly over to stand behind Prince Faramir and leaned over to whisper anxiously in the Steward's ear. Faramir stood up so abruptly that he nearly sent the poor young healer flying. The lords around the table, as well as the King, looked up at him with astonishment.

"I'm sorry, my lords," said Faramir, clearly struggling to contain his ecstasy. "I must pardon myself. The King has my utter approval on this matter…" Aragorn nodded to him knowingly, and Faramir backed slowly towards the door.

"Is something wrong, Faramir?" asked Elphir, eyeing his cousin with concern.

"No, no!" Faramir assured him hastily. "Not at all!"

"Then for what occasion do you leave the King's Council?" asked Lord Forlong II, surprised.

"Oh…" said Faramir, flushing with timid pride, "…the birth of my son or daughter." Faramir thanked them all as they burst into cries of congratulations and applause. After receiving the warm praise of the King and Elphir, Faramir dashed out the door after the young healer, quite spry for a man of fifty-five years.

"Hopefully that'll put them in a better mood," he mumbled to himself absently.

His heart beat thrice as fast as normal. Twice a father, he would be today, and he promised himself that he would be twice the husband he'd ever been. Éowyn! Oh, Éowyn! After fifteen years of struggling to have a second child, this was the moment when all of their dreams would come true! A loving wife and two darling children—what more could a man ask for in life?

"Elboron," he thought suddenly, hesitating. His son would surely want to be present for the birth of the new little member of the family. He stopped short and took the young healer by the shoulders.

"Can I entrust a task to you?" Faramir asked seriously. The youth nodded eagerly, intent to please the Steward on this, the finest of days. "Go up to the Tower and summon my son Elboron to the Houses of Healing. Go now!" Faramir watched the healer turn away and then hurried on to the Houses of Healing.

The Warden greeted him at the door of the birthing ward with a smile. "Congratulations, Prince. Your lady wife is in labor as we speak."

Faramir's breath caught in his throat. "You mean…already?" he asked nervously. "I'd like to see her…"

"I'm sorry, m'Lord, but I won't allow it," said the Warden gently. "As much as I know you love your wife, men tend to…get in the way during births. Most can't stand seeing the…er…process." He patted Faramir sympathetically on the shoulder. "Don't worry. It'll be over before you know it. Please wait here, and I'll come for you as soon as I deem it's best."

As much as Faramir wanted to argue, he knew that the Warden had experience in his work. Faramir wasn't one to question experts in the field, and he knew that Éowyn would want him to cooperate with the Warden, since she herself was a healer. So, he waited.

Sweat gathered on Faramir's brow, and he swiped it away anxiously. For what must have been the millionth time, he felt a tight clench in his stomach—a sharp pang in his guts that forced him to sink into a seat at the nearby bench. He could hear the healers rushing around behind him, fetching cloths to soak in hot water. When restlessness crept over him, he sprang to his feet again and paced before another twinge made him sit. He waited, and he waited, and he waited still. Pace. Pang. Sit. Stand. Pace...

"Where in the great _bulë iâ _is that healer with Elboron?" Faramir cried, growing more worried and impatient.

Suddenly, a healer burst from the room and sprinted pell-mell to the end of the corridor, panting for breath. She shouted orders so frantically and quickly that Faramir could not catch what she said. A flurry of anxious assistants rushed to follow the healer back to the birthing ward.

"What is it?" asked Faramir breathlessly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, m'Lord, I must go," she insisted, scurrying quickly into the birthing ward and slamming the door shut behind him.

Faramir had seen the fear behind her eyes. Something wasn't right… He could feel it—a tingling in his gut, a flutter of his heart. Something was terribly, horribly wrong.

He knocked feverishly at the door until the Warden opened it. The Warden's face was lined with a deep frown, and Faramir felt his stomach leap sickeningly.

"I'm sorry, but we can't let you in now," the Warden rushed to tell him. "I will fetch you when it is time." He turned to go, then paused to say brokenly, "It is a girl, m'Lord," and hurried away.

"Father."

Faramir turned to face his son Elboron, who was coming swiftly down the hall towards him with the young healer close behind. Elboron was dressed in a hauberk of chain mail and had on only one of his vambraces, which told Faramir that Elboron had probably been preparing to take his shift in the Citadel Guard before the healer found him.

"Is Mother alright?" asked Elboron. A keen curiosity filled his eyes, and he peered earnestly at the young healer who slipped away through the birthing ward door. "How is she doing?"

"I don't know," Faramir admitted. "Something may be wrong… The healers are darting around like mad…" He managed a smile for his son. "You have a new baby sister, though."

A small smile lit Elboron's face. "When can I see her?" he asked, sounding worried despite how he tried to hide it. "When will we know if something is wrong?"

"I don't know…" said Faramir. "They haven't even let me in yet. In fact…why don't you wait outside in the gardens until I know what is going on. As soon as the Warden comes to bring me to your mother, I'll summon you."

The smile turned into an angry frown. "I'd rather not wait outside," said Elboron, agitated. "Something could be wrong. I can wait in here with you, can I not?"

"No," Faramir replied.

"Why not?"

"Because I am your father, and I said so." Faramir ignored his son's glare. "I need some time to myself, and it wouldn't hurt you to take a few moments of quiet reflection, either. I promise you that when I know what is going on, you will know what is going on. Until then, I'd like you to respect my wishes and go."

Elboron shot a vicious look towards his father and then stormed down the corridor towards the gardens. Faramir sighed anxiously and scrubbed his face, praying to the Valar that nothing was wrong…that he was imagining things…

The more time that passed, the greater Faramir's fear grew. He paced outside the door restlessly, his tunic nearly soaked with sweat. He pressed his ear to the door, trying to hear, but the thick oak halted any noise. Why wouldn't they let him see his wife and newborn child? Please let there be nothing wrong with the babe! A daughter, the Warden had told him. That was all that he'd been told.

"Faramir. Calm yourself."

The Steward ceased his rhythmic pacing and turned to see Aragorn striding towards him. The look Faramir gave his King was filled with intensity, anxiety, and doubt. Aragorn sighed and motioned for Faramir to take a seat beside him on the bench, and Faramir sat.

"Where is Elboron?" asked the King.

"Outside," Faramir answered shortly. His voice was gruff with weariness and tension. Half of his attention was focused on drumming his fingers together edgily. "In the gardens. I will not let him in until I am sure of what is going on, and he is angry with me." His bubble of anguished distress burst. "Aragorn, they will not speak to me! Why can I not enter? Surely I have a right to know what is happening! I'm her husband!" He rose abruptly and paced the stone floor in circles again.

"Faramir." Aragorn's tone was enough to make Faramir halt in silence, wringing his hands behind his back. "If you quiet yourself, I will go in and ask them myself. _I_ will decide if you should be permitted in or not, but only if you calm your nerves."

Faramir nodded and half-collapsed onto the bench again. "Alright," he said, drawing in a shaky breath. "Thank you, Aragorn." The King nodded and entered the room where Éowyn and Faramir's baby girl were waiting.

The instant the door was closed, Faramir leapt up and resumed pacing. He squeezed his eyes shut, bit his lip, wrung his hands, and almost began biting his nails in a vain attempt to vent his fretfulness. Reestablishing cool composure seemed impossible.

After an eternity, the door creaked slowly open. Faramir jumped towards Aragorn expectantly, but he was stricken still at the pain and the tears on Aragorn's face. Faramir's heart pounded in agony. With fear in his shuddering breath, Faramir choked out the question: "A-Aragorn… How is my wife? M-My daughter?"

Aragorn closed his eyes and half-turned away from Faramir. When he spoke at last, his voice was strained with grief. "Faramir…I am so sorry… I came too late… The baby survived, but Éowyn…she…"

"NO!" Faramir shouted, gasping in disbelief. "No, you're lying! You're lying!" Aragorn lunged to grab Faramir, but he missed, and Faramir shoved the door open with all of his force. The Warden barred his way.

"Prince—"

"Out of my way!" Faramir ordered, frantic. Aragorn was lying! He had to be!

"I don't think—"

"_Now_!" Reluctantly, the Warden moved, and Faramir dashed into the birthing ward.

Wailing in the arms of a healer was a newborn babe, wrapped in clean white cloth. All motion in the room except the babe ceased when Faramir darted in. His eyes whipped back and forth until finally they came to rest on a bed in the far corner.

His heart stopped as he saw her lying on the bed, deathly pale and still.

"Éowyn! Éowyn!" he shouted, rushing to her and gathering her limp body up in his arms. She did not speak or move or breathe. He cradled her head against his chest, stroking her sweaty, golden locks desperately. He choked and coughed on his own breath, pain tearing into his chest. He pressed his mouth against her cold lips, willing her to respond. "Éowyn! Wake unto me! Éowyn!"

"Faramir!" Strong hands seized Faramir about his waist and dragged him away from her. He struggled feverishly to reach his beloved, but Aragorn held him brutally. "She's gone, Faramir! Please! She's gone!"

Heaving great, rasping breaths, Faramir turned his wild eyes on the wintry face of his wife and watched her for painfully long moments. Surely she would breathe…just now! No… Very soon, though! Soon! She'd breathe again, and they'd see! They'd see! She was alive!

"She's not gone!" Faramir insisted, tears pouring from his eyes. "She not gone! She's not! She's not…she's…" He let out a heart-rending cry of agony, torn from the deepest pits of his soul, as if he had been run through by a blade.

"Éowyn!" he shrieked. Faramir crumpled to his knees on the floor, and Aragorn went with him, still clutching him tightly. "Éowyn! Éowyn! No! _No! Éowyn!"_

_

* * *

_

_bulë iâ_

(deep void)


	2. Cold

Chapter II – Cold

Though it was Éowyn's funeral, more than half of those present had their eyes fixed on Lord Faramir. The Steward's eyes were glassy and distant, and when the ceremony required the people to speak, he stayed silent as if he could not hear what was being said. The King knew, however, that Faramir could hear every single word, because he watched his Steward flinch every time her name—Éowyn—was mentioned.

"It is a thing of incomparable anguish to have a loved one torn away before her time," the leader of the ceremony was saying in a tragic voice that sounded choked with tears. "The Lady Éowyn, Princess of Ithilien, has left a beloved husband, a brother, a sixteen-year-old son, and a newborn daughter to suffer in this world without her presence. We thought that we would always have the Lady Éowyn to grace Gondor with her splendorous beauty and worldly renown—the greatest gift of Rohan to our nation. It is with agony that we now realize that we were wrong…" The moment of ringing silence seemed to engulf the crowds in shadow. The ceremony leader cleared his throat. "With this deepest sorrow in mind…we now say our final farewell to Éowyn, the White Lady of Rohan…"

Éomer stood opposite of Faramir with his own wife, crying out in grief with great heaving sobs. His entire body was racked with agony, his face scarlet from weeping. Elboron was stiff and silent, his eyebrows arched in anger, but tears trickled slowly from his eyes. Faramir was as pale as death himself and stricken dumb by the appearance of the great bier that bore his wife down to the gravesite.

The men carrying her body stopped in front of the family, and for a moment everything went still. The only sound carried on the wind was of confused children crying because they did not understand why the Lady Éowyn whom everyone loved would speak no more.

Éomer approached first, having barely calmed his sobs. He murmured words in Rohirric over his sister's body, chanting some foreign rhythm that only he and Éowyn would have understood. When he retreated, Elboron stepped shakily forward, unsteady on his feet.

"Mother…" he whispered. His tears slipped down his chin and landed on Éowyn's cold hand, and Elboron looked away with a rough cough to hide his moan. He pushed through the crowds angrily and sprinted up through the gates of Minas Tirith. Though Aragorn called to him, he did not stop. Aragorn nodded to his son, Eldarion, who ran after Elboron into the city. Faramir said nothing but finally took his turn to step up to the bier.

Faramir laid a shaking hand on Éowyn's arm. She was wearing the mantle that he had given her, woven of blue thread the color of midnight and set with silver gems around her throat. Finally his composure slipped. "So much death…" Faramir bowed his head and shuddered. "So much… I should have saved you, Éowyn… I should have been there. I failed you…like I failed the others… Like Father and Boromir and—" He turned away abruptly, withdrawing visibly into himself like a wounded animal might when it fears the killing blow. He was trembling, and though others tried to ask him if he was cold, he said not another word for the remainder of the service.

Of all those present, the one with eyes more for Faramir than any other was Prince Elphir of Dol Amroth, Faramir's cousin. As Éowyn was laid gently into the grave, he moved up beside Faramir and laid a hand on his shoulder. Elphir whispered words of comfort into Faramir's ear, soothing words full of the promise of a new day and a shining sun, but Faramir made no sign that he heard or, if he heard, that he understood.

The shadows grew longer, and Éowyn's bier was covered with a mound of dirt upon which Éomer planted a single blossom of _simbelmyne_, in the burial fashion of their people. The crowds began slowly to depart, wailing songs of lament into the darkening evening. Prince Elphir gave Faramir's shoulder a squeeze and tried to steer him away, but Faramir would not budge. Aragorn noticed and slipped over quietly, touching Elphir on the arm.

"Will he still say nothing?" Aragorn whispered, wet tear streaks in evidence on his cheeks. The pain engraved as in stone upon Faramir's face grieved him more deeply than anything since his mother's death had grieved him.

"No, my liege. He will not speak," said Elphir, his hand still tight on Faramir's shoulder. "Will you not do something for him? Is there nothing you can do?"

Aragorn shook his head, fresh tears rising to his eyes. "There is nothing, Elphir. He must be given time." At Elphir's nod, Aragorn turned away. Arwen fell into step beside him and looked sadly at his face.

"_You feel guilt_," she whispered in Sindarin. "_Ease your mind. The fault is not yours_."

"_Arwen, I should have been there_!_ I could have saved her_!" His tone was fierce and full of pain. "_I am the King_!_ What is my purpose, if not to protect my people_?_ You do not understand, and you should not try to_!" Arwen stopped by the side of the path, but he kept walking, propelled by some intense desire to get away from the place where Éowyn had been laid to rest and where her husband and brother remained, grieving in silence.

"We are brothers in our grief, Faramir," said Éomer eventually to break the silence. His wife Lothiriel, sister of Elphir, began to make her way towards the city after the crowds, and Elphir finally let go of Faramir's arm to follow her. Faramir did not move. "Let us be brothers true from this point forward."

The silence lasted for so long that Éomer was almost sure that Faramir would not answer. Finally, though, Faramir spoke. "I do not wish to join you in brotherhood, good King Éomer." His voice cracked on the name. "I only wish to be _alone_." Éomer paused, and Faramir's resilience weakened. "Please…" Éomer turned then and left him alone with the rising moon and the lonely dust of his wife's grave. Just before he entered the city, Éomer looked back down at the lonely figure now lowered on one knee in front of the grave, his back arched so that his head rested on his knee. Though the wind was fiercely cold under the grey sky, it seemed as if Faramir could not even feel its biting cold through the numbing agony of his loss.

* * *

"Something must be done about Faramir." Elphir's statement caught everyone's attention, and the room fell silent. Aragorn, Arwen, Éomer, Lothiriel, and Elphir himself were all that remained of the crowds of mourners who had come to the funeral of the Lady Éowyn. As far as anyone knew, Faramir had still not returned to the city, and it was now nearly midnight.

"What is there to be done?" asked Éomer wearily, wiping more tears out of his eyes. "If he won't listen, then he won't be reasonable."

"The man's been pushed beyond his limits," said Lothiriel. "I don't think it is wise to judge him."

"No one is judging Faramir," Arwen replied gently. "But Elphir is right—something _must_ be done."

"I agree with Éomer," said Aragorn, shaking his head. "There is nothing we can do to help him until he realizes that he must help himself."

"Aragorn! The dear man is still out there, kneeling by his dead wife's grave, probably blaming himself and pushing himself into a pit that he may never be able to climb back out of without our help!" exclaimed Arwen.

"Listen!" cried Lothiriel. "We all agree that Faramir needs help, whether from himself or someone else. Standing here and pitying him will do nothing! Who is to say that he is as broken as you all judge him to be?"

"Lothiriel, you do not understand," Elphir growled, frustrated. "When his brother died, it destroyed his hope. I was there. I watched him hold it back, as if it didn't exist. All of the grief stayed inside because he couldn't afford to let it out when so many of us relied on him as a captain. Then when his father died, he lost his faith in the world, his faith in humanity, his faith in goodness. When his second son died in infancy, he was tired—tired with age, though he was still yet young. Now this? How much abuse can one man take before he is broken?"

"Elphir is right," murmured Aragorn. "If you know anything about Faramir, then you understand that this event in Faramir's life is _not_ what has pushed him into this despair. It is the culmination of countless events in his past that have pushed him and pushed him—once almost to death. Since we found friendship, I have done everything that I can to help lift the burden of the memories of his past, but a pane of glass can only sustain so much before it shatters. You cannot put back together a pane of shattered glass."


	3. ‘Are the stars thus changeable?’

Chapter III – 'Are the stars thus changeable?'

When Aragorn woke the morning after the funeral, it was cold. The bitter wind had carried down snow from the peak of Mindolluin during the night, ushering in the first deep chill of winter. Arwen had had the servants start a fire in the grate the night before, but it was faded to ashes by now and its heat had dissipated. Aragorn's first thought was one that had never plagued him before: He was waking up in the bed that had once belonged to Faramir's dead father.

The notion disturbed him, and he rose quickly from the bed, leaving Arwen to sleep. His thoughts turned to focus on his quiet Steward and the memory of the day when Éowyn's life had slipped away. If there was one thing that Aragorn wished he could have done for his friend Faramir, he wished that he could have saved her. Faramir had watched too many of those closest to him die, and now his life was falling apart at the seams. There was not a single man or woman in Minas Tirith who could not see how he floundered in his grief, including the Lords of Gondor who questioned Aragorn as soon as the morning's council was called.

Faramir's seat to the King's right was painfully empty, and Aragorn thought with guilt that he should have checked to make sure that Faramir returned to the Citadel safely the night before. All the Lords arrived at the Council chambers, and Aragorn noticed that Elphir, too, was absent. Good, he thought. That meant that Elphir was probably with Faramir, which was better for him.

"I presume that the Steward will not be joining us, my liege?" asked Lord Dervorin tenderly when the Lords had all seated themselves. It was a simple question behind which lay a thousand others, and Aragorn shook his head instead of answering.

"Is he even fit to serve as Steward?" snipped Lord Glosfalath bluntly, folding his hands thoughtfully in front of him. "He is undeniably an emotional wreck. I do not believe that any leadership should be placed in his hands at this time."

"Lord Glosfalath!" Aragorn almost roared, bringing his fist down upon the table hard. The quiet whispers that had been flying about the room fell silent. "I will hear no such talk of my Steward in this Council! _I_ will decide who is fit and unfit for the position! I suggest that you keep your cruel remarks to yourself!"

Lord Glosfalath blinked, his mouth gaping, astonished at the viciousness of Aragorn's response. "I…am sorry, my liege Elessar," he stammered. Aragorn nodded sharply and looked away, still fuming silently with anger. These cold-blooded lords would sooner usurp Faramir's position than mourn with him.

"However, my liege," Glosfalath continued haltingly. "You did insist that we must vote on the matter of South Gondor as soon as possible, and this is the last day that we shall be all together in Minas Tirith for this Council. How do you propose that we vote with two of our number not in attendance?"

"I have decided to exercise my right as King of Gondor and Arnor to overrule the Council and authorize the surrender of my lands without a vote." Aragorn paused for the expected outburst of surprise, frustration, disbelief, and anger.

"King Elessar, you cannot possibly hope to employ such a law without infuriating the Gondorians who inhabit Belfalas and South Ithilien!" cried Lord Orodreth.

"Elphir and Faramir, the lords of Belfalas and Ithilien, have already made their opinions on this matter quite clear," Aragorn replied evenly. "Though neither are present today, you heard both of them support me at the last Council held here. I have no fear of retaliation from their people."

"This should be a time of unification!" Glosfalath insisted. "You would lower the moral of Gondor further by submitting our lands to the Haradrim, in this time of strife and mourning? We have just lost our most beloved heroine—the White Lady of Rohan who slew the Witch-king of Angmar!—and through her, we have practically lost our Steward, as well…"

Incensed, Aragorn stood abruptly from the table. "Lord Glosfalath, I will not tolerate your criticism of the Steward of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, and Lord of Emyn Arnen any longer! Nor will I accept blatant defiance of my decisions! Get out of my Council!" Glosfalath rose and swept from the room without another word, slamming shut the great oak door behind him.

Aragorn whirled and stormed through the door behind him that led to his adjoining office. He did not care whether or not the other lords dismissed themselves. Pacing in front of his desk, he tried to force himself to calm down. He knew that he should not have reacted so harshly, but his grief for his friend made him intolerant to the tetchy behaviors of the Council. He was used to having Faramir there to call them to order. Sometimes he wondered if they respected Faramir's presence more than his own.

"Isn't it funny, how we realize just how greatly we rely on a man only after he is no longer there…" Aragorn shook his head fiercely. "Why am I speaking of him as if he is dead?" The other half of his mind answered for him: Because his spirit died with Éowyn, and you know that it will take a miracle to get him back.

Aragorn leaned onto his desk and wept for his friend. The pain of Faramir's loss was so great that Aragorn would wish that he could have died in Éowyn's place if it would have saved Faramir from this grief. He wanted to deny that Faramir was an "emotional wreck" as Glosfalath had called him, but perhaps that was why he had gotten so angry with Glosfalath—he knew that it was true, even though he didn't want it to be.

Could they really blame Faramir? If Aragorn outlived Arwen—the Valar forbid it!—he would never be able to go on with his life. Faramir had already been forced to go on alone many times, and this time proved too much. Aragorn wanted to cry out that it wasn't fair! That Faramir should never have been made to carry the overwhelming burdens that life had forced upon him! I should have been anyone but Éowyn. Anyone but Faramir's dear wife.

The office was lonely and empty without his Steward to accompany him, with his dry humor and shy smile. Again, it struck Aragorn how much a part of his life Faramir had become, both as Steward to King and friend to friend.

Aragorn left the office behind and wandered aimlessly about the Citadel. When he heard voices, he slipped behind a column of stone or into a shadowed doorway until they passed and he could walk in solitude once again. The only person he stopped was one of the Citadel Guard who passed by, and he inquired as to Faramir's whereabouts and if the Steward had returned to the Citadel the night before. The guard answered, yes, he returned, but he had not been seen since and no one was quite sure where he was. Aragorn thanked the guard and let him go on his way. He was certain that Elphir was with Faramir, wherever he was.

The Citadel had never seemed so forlorn a place as it did to Aragorn that morning. His mind's eye brought to mind an image of the lovely Lady Éowyn, the woman who had captivated his imagination for a very brief while before his undying love for Arwen reminded him of where his loyalties lay.

"Éowyn…" he whispered slowly, stepping through the soft snow of the Citadel and watching his breath fog in the air. "'It is only a shadow and a thought that you love,' I told you. I could not give you what you sought…yet I was happy for you when Faramir plighted his troth to you. I believed you would both live out your days in Gondor to the happiness of all… Had I known then how things would come to pass, would I have done aught to save Faramir from the pain of your departure from this world? Could I have? Are the stars thus changeable?" He raised his face to the sky to see the last of the dawn stars beginning to wink out in the light of the newly risen sun. "Would that Lord Elrond were here… He would have known what to do…"

The sound of boots crunching on the snow alerted Aragorn to someone's approach, and he ducked beneath an overhanging of stone that jutted from the side of the White Tower of Ecthelion. It was a young man emerging from the Tower, and his eyes were on his dragging feet. Aragorn moved out into the open.

"Eldarion!"

The young Prince of Gondor turned about to face his father, weary from a very long night. It looked as if he had had no sleep at all since the funeral the day before. Aragorn searched his son's face concernedly, seeing the grief that darkened his eyes.

"How is Elboron?" Aragorn asked softly. "How did you leave him?"

"He is _angry_." Eldarion shook his head. "I cannot calm him. Nothing I say seems to soothe him. Indeed, it seems only to madden him further! He will listen to no one until Faramir speaks to him. He blames his father for this."

Aragorn started in surprise. "His father?"

"Yes. He says that he should not have been forced to leave during the birthing, and he blames Faramir for taking away his last chance to see his mother alive." Eldarion sighed and wiped his face, shivering in the wintry cold. "Also, he is furious with Faramir for ignoring him since her death… He has sworn that he will never forgive his father for being so heartless."

"Faramir's grief has broken his spirit! If he is being heartless, it is neither intentionally nor consciously!" cried Aragorn.

"I _know_ that, Father," snapped Eldarion, "but try telling that to a sixteen-year-old who just lost his mother!"

Aragorn sighed. "I am sorry, Eldarion. I am so quick to defend Faramir that I…" He cleared his throat and moved to place a gently hand on his son's shoulder. "Listen. We must all work together to help the two of them. I don't want this tragedy to destroy Faramir's family. They're all going to need each other to get through this."

"I know that, Father, but do they?"

* * *

Author's Note: I don't believe in Aragorn-Éowyn pairings, but neither do I find it completely impossible that Aragorn may have fancied her for the briefest of moments. (No men are quite as loyal as to put every other woman in the known world out of their thoughts and imaginations. :P ) This scene where Aragorn contemplates Éowyn's affection for him is only to demonstrate the small connection that he _did _have with her, NOT to allude to some lasting infatuation between them. 


	4. Darkness Unescapable

Chapter IV – Darkness Unescapable

_She was beautiful; all women were beautiful, but she more than all. Her blonde hair flew free in the wind, unbound. She held her chin high, her blue eyes piercing, dressing in a gown as white as winter's first snow. Beads of silver, adorned with jewels of green and blue, rippled elegantly about her neck. Over all, a blue mantle embroidered with blue thread and silver stars, making her a shrine of beauty and splendor unmatched in the world of Men._

_She whispered his name, softly and then louder: "Faramir…Faramir…" Her pale face was turned away from him to face a vast mountain of darkness that rose, towering up like a wave that should engulf the world. She stood upon a wall of stone high within a tower, upon some dreadful brink, and it was utterly dark in the abyss before her feet, but whether there was any light behind her she could not tell. For she could not turn. A stroke of doom sounded from a bell in the tower above._

"_Faramir…the land before me founders, and a great dark wave climbs over the green lands and above the hills, and coming on, darkness unescapable."_

"_Then you think that the Darkness is coming?" said he. "Darkness Unescapable?" He tried to reach her, but though he strained his arm fell short._

"_I do not know what is happening. The reason of my waking mind tells me that great evil has befallen and we stand at the end of days…"_

"_But my heart says nay!" he cried. "And all my limbs are light, and a hope and joy are come to me that no reason can deny! Please…Éowyn… Remember those final words! A hope and joy! Hope and joy! Forget them not! Forget not the hope! Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"_

_She shook her head. "It is too late for hope…" The stone cracked beneath her feet, and she tumbled helplessly into the abyss. He screamed and leapt to save her, but the darkness beneath her feet had already consumed her, and it wrapped its cold death-like fingers about him and swallowed him up. Darkness Unescapable…_

_

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_

Author's Note: I paraphrased a good portion of this chapter directly from _The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King_, Book VI, Chapter 5: The Steward and the King.


	5. ‘I often wonder’

Chapter V – 'I often wonder what shall become of her…'

"_Mellon nin_…it was not for reasons of this world that she was taken from you," whispered the Elven Prince who knelt at Faramir's bedside. His hand rested on Faramir's arm, and his head was bowed as if in prayer, eyes shut tight to hold back tears. "I know that you can hear me, Faramir… You feel guilt, but you should not! You cannot let this destroy you! Éowyn was the strongest woman in Middle-Earth. Will you disgrace her now by falling apart at her death? Think of Éowyn! Please!"

It was as if Legolas was speaking to a corpse; his effort would have just as effective if that was the case. Faramir's eyes flickered closed and his pinched face turned a shade whiter, but that was the beginning and the end of his reaction.

"Faramir, you cannot shut out the world completely." Legolas brushed a strand of Faramir's hair back from his feverish brow. "_Mellon nin_…please…I am begging you… Listen to me! If ever I have wished you to heed my words, it is now! You have a son and a daughter who need you!" He glanced up at Elphir, who sat on the other side of the bed. "You have a cousin who needs you! And friends! Can you not see what you are doing to them? Please… Do not fade away. You must be as a beacon to them in this time of darkness. Do not wane. Faramir…awaken to the world! Open your eyes! Listen!"

Waiting, Elphir leaned forward and waited, but as Faramir remained silent he let out his breath in a weary hiss and rubbed his eyes. Legolas glanced up at him worriedly. He knew that the Prince of Dol Amroth had scarcely left Faramir's side since Éowyn's funeral, drawn to his cousin by some steadfast familial bond even though Faramir was in poor health—physically, mentally, and emotionally. It seemed that his constant vigil was beginning to wear him thin. Legolas saw the beginnings of an angry frown forming in Elphir's taut features.

"He will not speak," Elphir mumbled, standing from his seat with a grunt of surprise at his stiffness. "Perhaps you should forfeit the effort." Elphir turned and moved with the heaviness of a tired man towards the door, but the sound of a sudden gasp of breath from Legolas stopped him in his tracks.

Slowly, almost lazily, Faramir had opened his eyes. He stared up at Legolas as if he was in pain, his shallow grey eyes shimmering with something like the forlorn misery of a man who has nothing and can no longer summon the strength to fight to gain more. Legolas tightened his hold on Faramir's arm and half-stood so that he could lean over Faramir.

"_Mellon nin_…" Legolas' voice was so soft that Elphir suspected that he feared to interrupt whatever thoughts may have been drifting through Faramir's mind. "_What is it, my friend_?"

Tears welled in Faramir's eyes, but the rest of his body seemed stiff and numb. "The world seems such a pale place… Watery…unreal…" A sob shuddered through Faramir's frame. "The Darkness is closer now than the light… I'm standing all alone, all alone on the drink of the Darkness…Darkness Unescapable…"

"Faramir," breathed Elphir, taking a step closer to the bed.

Faramir threw his head back and forth, and as he tried to sit up Legolas stopped him. "Lost… Haunted… They've all forsaken me! They've forgotten me! They've left me here, wavering on the brink! Oh, Eru!" Tears flooded down his face, and Legolas closed his eyes in pain at Faramir's suffering.

"_Hush, my friend… Be still_." Legolas hoped that the soothing intonations of the Elvish language would help pacify Faramir. He placed a gentle hand upon Faramir's flushed brow and frowned in dismay. "_You are feverish, friend. Your tongue speaks of things it knows not. We have not forgotten you. You are not alone._"

"I have no fever!" cried Faramir, his voice cracking. "Legolas…" It was the first time Elphir had heard Faramir call anyone by name since the funeral, and he was startled by it. "Sh-She is gone! She… I… Oh, Eru! I would have _bled_ for her! I would bleed rather than linger here, alone! Why? Why, Legolas?" His desperation frightened Legolas, who could only try to steady Faramir and pray silently for his deliverance from these ghosts that haunted him. "Answer me! Answer me if you are my friend!"

Legolas' reply was slow and deliberate. "Because she was human, Faramir. As you of all people know, the Gift of Ilúvatar was—"

"Gift! What kind of gift is this?" Faramir's voice was cold and cynical now. Elphir almost felt his heart stop.

For a split second, Faramir sounded almost exactly like his father.

The next moment, however, Faramir faltered and fell back to the unconfident, weak voice that Elphir was used to hearing from his cousin. "Legolas…you are of the Firstborn… Is there nothing y-you could have done…for her?"

Legolas was caught of guard by the question, and he hesitated to answer, mainly because Faramir had just hit on the very thing that had been plaguing Legolas' conscious night and day. "Faramir…" he answered eventually. "I was not even in Minas Tirith…"

Faramir gave a soft moan and closed his eyes again. "Oh, I don't know what I'm saying… I never know what I'm saying anymore…"

Legolas desperately tried to persuade Faramir to speak of the Darkness that troubled him so, but Faramir would say nothing more. After a quarter of an hour of silence, Elphir rose and bid Legolas farewell, after telling the Elf that he would be in his temporary quarters in Minas Tirith if he was needed.

Could Legolas have done anything if he had been there? The Elven Prince knew that it was the same question that disturbed Aragorn's sleep at night. The Gift of Ilúvatar was by all rights a blessing upon the race of Men—one that Legolas himself often coveted greatly when his heart was tired and sore—but it seemed (from what he had heard) that countless things had been done falsely that day to rob Éowyn of her life before her time. Had the healers been less proud, they would have summoned Aragorn hours before such a tragedy could occur. It was a maddening thought, and Legolas found that whenever he was in the same room with healers he glared at them ferociously until they scurried away.

Legolas dipped a cloth into a basin of cool water and laid it gently on Faramir's warm brow. Deny it though he might, Faramir was ailing. Legolas feared that neither Aragorn nor Elphir nor anyone involved understood the true gravity of Faramir's situation. He could sense the presence of the battle that raged in Faramir's mind, the constant intensity that left him so weak and ill. It was a battle that he knew Faramir would lose without persistent help from someone close to him.

"If only I could stay here with you forever, _mellon nin_, and keep you safe…"

----------------

_The afternoon was cool and dry, with an unrelenting breeze sweeping the hills from the northeast. Deep in the wooded expanse of Ithilien walked a Man and an Elf, each with a bow across his back and a freshly slain deer across his shoulder._

_"It is a shame that your Lady did not come," remarked Prince Legolas. "She would have enjoyed the hunt, don't you think?"_

_"Perhaps," answered Faramir shortly._

_"She was once renowned for her bravery and her thirst for adventure." Legolas gave his friend a wry smile. "Has she lost it now that she is settled down with a husband and a child?"_

_Faramir shifted in such away that it was impossible to tell whether he had an itch or whether he was irked by the question. "Since she became a healer, she has loathed to witness the death of any living creature." Legolas nodded silently, but by Faramir's tone he knew that there was more. After a moment's pause, Faramir added hastily, "She never feared death before, yet now—since Adrahil…"_

_Legolas glanced surreptitiously at Faramir to see the worry lines that marked his face at the mention of his second son, the son who had died in infancy just two years before. "I understand," he said gently. They walked on for many long minutes without speaking a word to each other, and when they reached their camp they placed their burdens down in equal silence. The excited air of the hunt had dwindled with the awkwardness of Legolas' thoughtless question. Just as Legolas was wishing for the twentieth time that he had not opened his mouth, Faramir spoke again._

_"I often wonder what shall become of her when I die." It was such a solemn, morbid statement that Legolas was at a loss for words. Before his falter could be noticeable, however, Faramir continued. "She will have Elboron, of course, but a child cannot always provide for a parent as a spouse or friend can. I only fear that she has no true friends to comfort her when I am gone. She is close to the Queen, but they are so different in so many ways that it is difficult, I think, for them to see eye-to-eye. From what I have gathered, whenever they talk one to the other, the Queen always speaks as an Elven lady does and Éowyn is forever speaking as a shieldmaiden of Rohan does." He paused. "Does that make any sense at all?"_

_"Of course," said Legolas readily, though he was thinking privately that Faramir was a little too well versed in the ways of women. Then again, perhaps that was why Faramir was married and Legolas was not._

_"I try to ensure that Éowyn does not come to rely too heavily upon me as her only guidance, but it is infuriatingly difficult to find another woman in this kingdom who thinks as a shieldmaiden of Rohan does!" As Faramir spoke, Legolas observed him fiddling with the marriage band on his left ring finger. "Rohirric women are fiery and bold and outspoken, but all the maidens here are soft and gentle and mind their manners without the faintest conception of individuality or opinion! Boromir always used to say that the reason he was so reluctant to marry was because there was not a lady in all this kingdom that could please him in any way. 'Boring', he called them, when we were younger."_

_When Faramir's brother was mentioned in a conversation, it was a sure sign that he was deeply distressed. Legolas recognized the sign and reflected over his next words as he sharpened his knife. "Faramir…surely you are not anticipating death for many more years."_

_"Of course not. My father lived as long as he did without becoming dotard." Now Faramir was mentioning his father. Another bad sign. "I should expect to be the same. Still…life doesn't come with promises. I could live for a hundred more years or I could die before tomorrow morning. Who is to say? Life is a fickle thing. It can be whisked away in a matter of seconds, unexpectedly, pulled right out from under your feet…" Faramir's eyes were distant and lonely, and Legolas identified it as yet another symptom of Faramir's poor spirits._

_"If that is so," said Legolas carefully, "then might it not be possible that she shall die before you, Faramir?"_

_The look on Faramir's face was one of dazed astonishment. It was obvious that the concept of Éowyn predeceasing him had never before occurred to him. He almost appeared affronted to have such a notion suggested to him. "Well…I suppose it is possible, but…" Faramir shrugged it away as if it was something that he didn't want to confront. "I am older than she, and she hardly does anything fraught with danger these days. If you're expecting her to go out and attempt to slay another Witch-king, you'll be sorely disappointed!" Faramir laughed, but Legolas did not smile. He had the distinct impression that Faramir was avoiding the point._

_"But what if, Faramir?" Legolas pushed cautiously. "You said yourself that accidents happen."_

_"Don't worry, Legolas. I take good care of my wife."_

_"I'm not trying to suggest that you don't," Legolas was quick to assure him. "It is only… You spoke of worrying that Éowyn relies upon you too much. Do you rely upon her the same?"_

_"Legolas, I am a grown man, not a child."_

_"She is not a child, either, yet you are concerned."_

_"That is completely different!"_

_"No, it isn't."_

_"Why are you arguing with me?"_

_"Because I think you know that you're not telling the whole truth—"_

_"If Éowyn dies, I will just have to move on, won't I?" said Faramir in such a sharp tone that Legolas didn't dare speak again. Yet despite his tone, Faramir's eyes were full of fretfulness, not anger. "It is not as if I haven't had to before. I am a soldier, Legolas. Death has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember. Éowyn…she's different. She couldn't… I don't think she'd… You just don't understand. Éowyn—"_

_"I do understand," Legolas interrupted gently. Faramir smiled weakly and let the matter drop at that, even though Legolas was even more anxious than before for his friend. By speaking to soldiers who had known Faramir since the War of the Ring and earlier, Legolas had learned that Faramir had always been like this—covering up pain and worry with brusque answers and hasty reassurances. The confidence in Faramir's tone that Éowyn would live longer than he would unnerved Legolas. It was unlike Faramir to take something for granted, and he feared that his young friend was ignoring the possibility simply because he could not handle its implications._

----------------

Faramir had never been prepared for Éowyn's death. He had never prepared himself, because he had somehow convinced himself that there was no chance of his outliving his wife.

"How could I have been so blind_?" Legolas whispered, so softly that even Faramir would not be able to hear him. "_No…not just I. We were all blind to how tightly you clung to your bride, Faramir. She was not only your love, but also your security._" He lowered his voice further. "_I am sorry, Faramir…_" _Legolas released Faramir's hand, leaned back, and closed his eyes as a Quenya blessing slipped from his lips.

"_Elen síla tenn' le. Utuveyes! Aurë entuluva._"

* * *

_mellon nin_

(my friend)

_Elen síla tenn' le. Utuveyes! Aurë entuluva._

(A star shines upon thee. Find it! Day shall come again.)


	6. Estel

Author's Note: All spoken dialect in this chapter is in Elvish, unless noted otherwise. I didn't want the entire chapter to be italicized!

* * *

Chapter VI – Estel

_**Elvenking of Mirkwood Forest:**_

"No, no—that isn't right." He scratched out the offending phrase with a few quick strokes of his quill and tried again.

_**King Thranduil:**_

"That won't do, either!" Once again he blotted out the salutation. He paused for a moment with the quill inches above the parchment. The tone of this letter had to be appropriate for the situation. Beginning was the hardest thing anyone faced when sitting down to write a letter. Although, if one never began at all, the letter would never be written. Inspired by that thought, he began scrawling the Elvish _tengwar_ across the sheet as fast as he could.

**_Father:_**

_**My letters to you have been few over the years, but my need now is great. As I'm sure you are by now aware, tragedy has stricken Gondor. The Steward Faramir's beloved wife, the Lady Éowyn, passed away during childbirth no more than a week ago. Father, it does not begin to describe the desolation of this poor man to say that he is inconsolable. I fear that grief has left him weak, and his very life seems to be at stake in this most desperate battle.**_

_**I knew the Lady Éowyn well; all of our people in Ithilien knew her by sight and called her by the name Nim-hiril Rochiel—a name to which she responded with delight. Her death has left our people somber with mourning, and I myself am deeply grieved. I have tried to help Faramir struggle through this trial, but it seems that I am too close to the entire situation, for I know not what to do. He neither speaks nor moves nor eats, and though his cousin is by his side day and night, he appears to be only dead to the world.**_

_**Many long years ago, Father, you were by Lord Elrond's side when he lost his own dear wife Celebrian and watched her sail across the sea to the Undying Lands. What in a man's soul can help him to carry on after such a loss? Are there any blessings you uttered, any gentle words that you whispered into Lord Elrond's ear to guide him away from the darkness and back towards the light?**_

Again, Legolas paused, uncertain of how to continue. Finally he added:

**_I ask you this, Father, not only for Faramir's sake but also for Estel's. He is wretched with guilt concerning Lady Éowyn's death. I am certain he would have done anything to prevent it, had he been able. Perhaps the only way to heal him now is to find a way to heal Faramir._**

_**Though I hesitate to mention it to Estel, I fear for Faramir's life. Such a wound to the soul may be fatal if he loses his will to live, and by the shadows in his eyes and the pallor of his cheeks, I dread each day, suffering with the knowledge that it may be his last. The time when Faramir will surrender to his pain is not far off. It would be well if you replied with all due haste.**_

_**Your loyal son,**_

_**Legolas**_

****

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_**

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****

The letter had been sent with the fastest Elf messenger in Ithilien. Now there was nothing to do for Legolas except to wait.

For three days and three nights he wandered the halls of Minas Tirith restlessly. When he was not meditating or trying to calm his mind with long walks along the mountain paths of Mindolluin, he visited Faramir. The Steward was no better; if anything, he grew worse as time went on. Though it was clear to everyone who saw him that he was dreadfully ill and ought to receive medical attention of some sort, he refused to speak and refused to allow the healers to touch him.

Aragorn had not come to visit Faramir. Why, Legolas could not say. Elphir was there constantly, Eldarion and Arwen visited on occasion, and even Elboron had come by once to see his father. Granted, Elboron's only words had been bitter and full of hatred, vowing to Faramir that he would never again take the name of the Steward's family and that he was no longer Faramir's son. Nevertheless, he had visited.

Legolas sensed that Aragorn was afraid, but afraid of what he could not say. The King was rarely intimidated, so the thought of him made nervous or frightened by his meek Steward seemed unlikely. No, it was not Faramir himself who scared Aragorn so. Legolas deemed that it was rather the knowledge that Faramir was dying, like Éowyn had died, and once again there was nothing that Aragorn could do about it.

"But there _are_ things you can do for him," Legolas insisted when he spoke to Aragorn. "If he could see your face, _mellon nin_, surely it would brighten his day by even a tiny increment to see that your friendship is still strong!"

Aragorn looked away.

"You and he are closer friends than any two men I have ever met," Legolas continued encouragingly. "If anyone has the ability to pull him out of this decay, it is you, Estel! You healed him once from the brink of death! Can you not do so again? Save him!"

"Has it ever crossed your mind that perhaps he does not want to be saved?"

Legolas gaped in shock at Aragorn, completely caught off guard by the suddenness of such a question. "Aragorn, you must realize that he is not in his right mind. If you believe that such a decision should be left to him—"

"I do not believe for an instant that Faramir is mad," Aragorn interrupted firmly. "He feigns madness because he is overwhelmed by pain and cannot deal with those around him who do not understand. He knows that he is killing himself, and I believe that he is content to do so. Whose place is it to decide for him whether he should live or die? Yours? Mine? Gandalf decided for him once, when there was no one else to keep Gondor safe. I am the King now, and in a few short years Elboron will be old enough to take his father's place on my Council."

"You would have Faramir allow himself to deteriorate until he fades away from Middle-earth in pain and misery?"

"I would the choice be his, and no one else's. His pain is his own to cope with as he will. I love the man dearly, as one loves his brother, yet I cannot justify taking away his only chance at happiness."

"Happiness?"

Aragorn sighed wearily. "Yes, Legolas. Death is Faramir's only chance at happiness now. You do not understand him. His pain has been greater than yours or mine will ever be. To die is nothing but to begin again." He seemed to falter and recovered with difficulty. "It…it is not the choice that I would make for him. If I could, I would prevent Éowyn from dying and have him live in happiness with her to the end of his days. Alas, I cannot do so. Neither can a man help another who does not wish to be helped. You ask too much of him, Legolas, and you know not what you ask."

"So then you are going to allow him to die."

"If that is what he wishes, yes."

"How do you call yourself that man's friend?" Legolas expected Aragorn to be angry with him, but instead Aragorn seemed to weaken.

"I know things about Faramir's past that you will never understand, Legolas," he said quietly. "I understand his pain. I understand his suffering. I understand his desire to have it end, if there is any way to end such pain. A friend on your level selfishly guards his friends for himself, afraid to let go because of personal loss. A true friend understands that sometimes a man must make decisions that will hurt his friends, but they are decisions he must be allowed to make. A true friend realizes that his love for his friend must reach beyond mere selfish possession. A true friend has respect for a man's wishes…both good and bad."

Legolas listened in contemplative silence. So that was what Aragorn was afraid of. He feared that if he tried to stop Faramir from surrendering his will to live, he would lose Faramir's friendship and respect, _and_ Faramir would still lose his life. Out of terror of making a wrong move, Aragorn refused to try at all. He believed that doing nothing would be safer for Faramir than trying to help.

When he left Aragorn's office, Legolas breathed a deep sigh of distress. "Oh, Father," he whispered to himself, "please hurry…"

It was another week before Thranduil's reply reached him, and by then he had left Minas Tirith to return to Ithilien. Legolas was meditating in his chambers at the Elven city Ithilduin that took its name from the river that flooded its wide streets. It was late, and the pale winter moon was reflected like a glowing orb upon the glassy surface of the river. In the summer, Elves maneuvered small wooden boats along all the narrow streets of the city, propelling and steering them with long, wooden poles. Now, though, the water was icy, and few denizens could be seen out in the streets. Dead, grasping trees stretched overhead and arched through Legolas' window, bringing with it a tail of fresh snow that was falling upon Ithilduin in soft silence. Warming his hands at the fire, Legolas wondered how Faramir was doing in Minas Tirith. He wished he could have stayed at the city for longer, but his duties in Ithilien could only be ignored for so long…

"_Ernil!_" cried an Elf from the street below. "_Dúlo! Dúlo! Thîw fornesse dúli! Aran Thranduilo thîw dúli!_"

Legolas ran to the window and clutched the sill with cold, white fingers as he leaned out. His father's letter had finally come… "_Fornesse! Onale nin man estel! Nai ú-dolen si!_" The Elf far below eagerly waved up to Legolas. The Elvenprince smiled and turned away from the window. The winding staircase from his rooms own to the street level had never seemed so long! In his haste, Legolas ran out into the water up to his waist to meet the Elf who stood waiting patiently in the boat.

"_Mae govannen_, Legolas!" teased the Elf. "If I had known you were so anxious I would not have called to you so!"

"Elheled," Legolas scolded his friend. "Tease me not! Your laughter is no comfort to me! Where is the letter?"

Elheled laughed again. "I came through wind and rain and snow to deliver this letter to you! I have passed from Greenwood the Great down through Rhovanion, across the Emyn Muil, past the city Eltarma to the west of here, and finally to your front doorstep! Can you think of no proper, grateful greeting for you worn and ragged friend?"

"The letter, Elheled!"

Finally, still laughing, Elheled handed him the scroll of hide. Legolas tore the seal open and read through the entirety of the letter twice. The third time, he stopped half-way through and pulled himself out of the water and into Elheled's boat.

"Take me to the outskirts of Ithilduin," Legolas ordered, though not unkindly. "I must reach Minas Tirith tonight, _mellon nin_."

* * *

A small company of horses thundered across the Pelennor Fields, kicking up a trail of dust that followed them all the way to Minas Tirith. Their robes and cloaks were green; their hair, fair. Under the bone-white moon they rode unflaggingly towards the city. The foremost among them was Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood and of Ithilien.

Even at this hour of the night, the gates of Minas Tirith were open to the Elves. They charged through and did not curb their pace even as they bolted up the seven levels to the Citadel. Candles flickered alive in the houses they left behind as children were awakened by the pounding hooves.

At the seventh level, Legolas finally reined in his horse and dismounted, hurrying towards the steps. Two of the Elves accompanying him followed while the rest remained behind. At the steps of the Tower of Ecthelion, they were finally challenged by the Citadel Guard.

"The King and Queen are asleep," the guard told them, speaking in Westron. "The King asked not to be disturbed in the night." He paused then and waited, as if he expected Legolas to understand and comply instantly. Instead, Legolas spoke up.

"I am Legolas Greenleaf of Ithilduin in Ithilien," he said. He, too, spoke in the tongue of men for the guard's benefit. "This is Elheled of Mirkwood Forest and Glorbrethil of the city Eltarma, also in Ithilien. The King has made it known to all that I am a close friend of his. I would see him tonight."

"His Majesty said only that he did not wish to be disturbed. He spoke of no exceptions."

The door behind the guard opened, and Arwen slipped silently out. Legolas stared at her for a moment, then bowed low. The sight of her was as breathtaking as ever.

"Legolas!" she said to him in Elvish. Her voice was soft with surprise. "It is late for you to be paying a visit to Minas Tirith! Have you come all the way from Eltarma?" she asked, noticing Glorbrethil.

"Farther, your Majesty," Legolas murmured. "I came from Ithilduin tonight. I only tarried in Eltarma for a brief while, and Glorbrethil insisted that he must come."

"Come then, you must have something to eat and drink to refresh yourselves!" she exclaimed. When she turned to the guard it was clear that he was uncertain whether was welcoming Legolas or scolding him. Graciously, she repeated her invitation in Westron, and the guard moved reluctantly away from the door. Smiling, Arwen led Legolas, Elheled, and Glorbrethil into the feast hall of Merethrond.

"I am surprised to see you here so late," Arwen said once she had found some meat and wine for the three guests. "I hope that nothing is wrong in Ithilien." She glanced at Elheled. "Or in Greenwood. Is your father well?"

"Yes, he is well," Legolas answered. "Before I tell you why I have come…how is Faramir?"

Arwen's smile fell into a frown. "He is weakening," she whispered. "I can sense the battle within him…the conflict. His desire to let go is struggling with what remains of his instinct to survive. Which side with triumph, I cannot say. I pray for him."

"As do I," Legolas mumbled in reply.

"As do we all," Glorbrethil added.

"Not all." Arwen's tone was bitter suddenly. "Aragorn refuses to hope and so he refuses to pray."

"He refuses to interfere with Faramir's decision," Legolas interjected gently.

"What? Who told you such a thing?"

Legolas looked towards Elheled and Glorbrethil. "Excuse us for a moment." They nodded, and Legolas pulled Arwen aside. "I spoke to Aragorn a week ago about Faramir, for I did not understand why he of all people refused to sit by Faramir's side. He told me that Faramir's choice to die should be governed by no other man. From the look in his eyes, though, I believe it is a slightly different matter. He wishes to keep Faramir's friendship to the end, believing that doing nothing to anger Faramir will benefit him better than trying to help him."

"Then it is as I feared." Arwen looked down. "He has given up the hope that Faramir can recover because he believes it is Faramir's true wish to die…" She covered her face in her hands. "Such despair…"

Legolas took Arwen's hands away from her face and cupped them in his own. "Undomiel." The name made her look up. He had not called her that in many, many long years, and it was a memory of things between them that were now long past. "I have come to rekindle his hope. You must trust that Estel will do the right thing. He will not abandon his dearest friend."

Arwen pulled her hands from his and folded them neatly in her lap. "Hasn't he already?"

"Not completely," Legolas insisted. "Not yet. I wrote a letter to my father asking for advice. Elheled has brought the reply, and I believe that it will do Estel good to read it."

"Tonight?"

"Yes, Arwen. Tonight. He must read it. If I must wake him myself and force it into his hands, I shall."

"He is not sleeping. He has not slept in days."

"Good. Then all the better that he read this letter now."

Arwen sent guards to find the King, but it appeared that he did not wish to be found. He was neither in his chambers nor in his office nor in the Citadel nor in any part of the city! Through the night, Legolas did not sleep, although Elheled, Glorbrethil, and the other Elves took up residence in the Tower for the time being. It was not until the first rays of the sun split the clouds and the overnight snow began to melt that Legolas finally found Aragorn smoking his pipe by the fire in the Council chambers.

"Good morn," Legolas said softly in Elvish. Aragorn did not turn.

"So," Aragorn began, likewise in Sindarin. "You and Arwen were engaged?"

Legolas was stunned by the unexpected accusation, and he took a step backwards. "She told you?" Legolas couldn't help but feel a sting of hurt. They had vowed never to tell Aragorn, for everyone's sake.

"No, but your friend Glorbrethil did."

Legolas cursed Glorbrethil silently.

"Why did you never tell me? Were you afraid of what I would say? What I would do?"

"I was afraid that it would ruin the friendships among all three of us."

"Why? Because you were once engaged to my wife?" Aragorn sounded angry, and Legolas closed his eyes.

"Aragorn, do not let jealousy blind you. It was an arranged marriage, a contract between my father and Lord Elrond. If it was anything more, I would have challenged you for her hand."

Aragorn paused warily. "Why were you chosen?"

"I am an Elvenprince of a high bloodline, and she is an Elvenlady of equally high blood. Thranduil and Elrond have always been friends, and I suppose it seemed fitting to them that Elrond's only daughter should marry Thranduil's eldest son. I may have loved her for a time, but only as her brothers may love her."

"Elrond must have favored you over me as a match for Arwen. Why did he never mention this? You were the more qualified suitor."

"Indeed I was. However, when Arwen told me that she had fallen in love with you, that she could never look on me with the semblance of affection again and would never be able to call me her husband in her heart, I told Elrond and my father that I refused to marry her."

"Why?"

"I would not see such a pretty face miserable for eternity, and I could not part you from true love, _mellon nin_."

This seemed to content Aragorn, and he clasped Legolas' hand firmly. "Brother," he said, "I owe you much."

Legolas smiled. "More than you know." Aragorn seemed to be puzzled, but Legolas shook his head and killed the question before it could be asked. "I have been awake all night seeking you, after having ridden from Ithilduin in haste."

"So far!" Aragorn exclaimed. "Why, Legolas? Tell me naught is wrong."

"Much is wrong, but the trouble is here and not in Ithilduin." Legolas drew the tightly wound scroll from his cloak and handed it to Aragorn. "Ask no questions, only read." Aragorn's eyes flickered to the top of the scroll, and Legolas watched him intently as he read:

_**My son,**_

_**Your letter has grieved me deeply, as I had not heard of the tragedy of Lady Éowyn's death. I wish to offer my sincerest condolences to the Steward and his family. What you have said of Faramir's condition distresses me just as Estel's guilt alarms me. If you can persuade either of them to read this letter, I pray it may ease their pain.**_

_**Death is not an end to all things, but neither is it the beginning as some would have you believe. It is an agonizing separation of souls, the differentiation between the past and the present, as well as the promise of the future. It represents the decay of time and the epitome of all things tragically beautiful in this world and the next. It distinguishes between those who live on in pain and those who have surpassed the material circles of Middle-earth and now transcend all things painful and sad.**_

_**The mourn is to violate all righteous purposes in the tragedy and beauty of death. It is a lonely and selfish act which narrows the gap between the living and the dead, dimming the glory of those who have crossed into eternal bliss and making black and ugly the days of those who remain. Eternal spirits flee from such desolation, so it is only by mourning that loved ones truly chase away the memories of the dead and corrupt their undying happiness in the Halls of Mandos.**_

**_Estel, your name has long been the declaration of what you are; hope is what you have brought to mankind, and it is what you will always bring to mankind. You cannot escape it, for hope is in your every movement, your every breath and touch and word. Hope cannot alter the past, but it can alter the future and the present. What you choose to do with your gift is your choice alone, yet I tell you now that when Celebrian passed across the oceans into the depths of time, it was hope that _you_ rekindled in Elrond's heart, even as the infant child that your dear mother, Eru rest her soul, brought to his sanctuary. _Onen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim. _Let your mother's words ring true, Estel, or her despair will have been in vain._**

Aragorn looked up in shock. "How does he know my mother?"

Legolas smiled. "Just continue."

**_It is not Faramir's body that has been broken by this agony; it is his heart. Hope is the only medicine for the heart, and so it is hope that you must somehow return to him. Chase away his fear and his pain with nothing but light and love. Show him that although he has lost many of those he loves, he has not lost all, and to forsake those who remain with him will only make bitter and cold the hearts of all. Light a fire in your heart, and hold it out to him. If you offer it with enough patience, he will take hold of it, and the fire will be rekindled in his own breast. With the fire of kinship alive again, Faramir will live._**

**_I know that he will live, because even the few times I have been graced by the kindness of his presence have been enough to assure me that he understands that he _must_ live. He may now be a scholar, but he was once a soldier. Soldiers cannot allow themselves to die, for it transgresses all that they once relied upon in battle. More importantly, those who have lost those dear to them cannot allow themselves to die while loved ones still remain with them, for they cannot bear to cause the same pain in another that they feel._**

_**Legolas, my son, Faramir is broken, and he must put himself back together, but you and Estel must help him. Be his eyes, his guide, his mentor. You have not lost him yet, and you will not lose him unless you allow him to slip through your arms unaided.**_

_**May the grace of Ilúvatar be upon you all.**_

_**Thranduil**_

****

**_

* * *

_**

****

****

****

_Nim-hiril Rochiel_

(White Lady Horse-Daughter)

_mellon nin_

(my friend)

"_Ernil!_ _Dúlo! Dúlo! Thîw fornesse dúli! Aran Thranduilo thîw dúli!_"

("Prince! Come! Come! The letter from the north has come! King Thranduil's letter has come!")

"_Fornesse! Onale nin man estel! Nai ú-dolen si!_"

("From the north! You give to me good hope! May it be unhidden now!")

_mae govannen_

(a greeting)

Author's Note: For this very last bit of Elvish dialogue, I have to admit I cheated a little. The Elvish verb "to come" is actually "_túl_" in Quenya, not in Sindarin. However, it is a generally accepted rule that the Quenya "t" becomes a "d" in Sindarin when it is the first letter, so that is what I did to translate it into Sindarin. Also I assumed that the possessive ("_Thranduilo_") and prepositional ("_fornesse_") elements of Quenya are mirrored in Sindarin. Finally, the Sindarin word "_thîw_" actually means "letter" as in ABCs. I assumed that, like in English, it is also the word for a letter as in a message. I'm sure Tolkien will find a way to forgive me for butchering his beautiful languages.


	7. Naught But A Shadow

Chapter VII – Naught But A Shadow

Twelve and a half days. Twelve very long nights. A blanket was draped crookedly over the chair beside Faramir's bed. The path on the carpet where Elphir was wont to pace was worn thin and ragged. He stood beside the window now, looking down from the Tower of Ecthelion upon the seven levels of Minas Tirith and to the Pelennor Fields one thousand feet below. It was a dizzying sight. His head spun and swooned, creating the impression that he was tipping slowly over the edge of that great drop, about to plummet down that thousand-foot fall.

Quickly, he turned away and settled his eyes on the bed in the center of the room. Sweating and tossing beneath the covers was Faramir, his cousin, struggling miserably with some horrid nightmare. Faramir had not stopped shivering all night. Whether he was cold or whether he was suffering from the horrors of his dream, Elphir could not say. He glanced down at the thick blankets that covered Faramir. Five layers of down, wool, and fur. He could not be cold.

Again, Elphir looked out the window. This time he looked at the horizon in the distance. He could see the shiny blue cascade of the ocean, near which lay his home, Dol Amroth. He thought of his wife, of his four daughters and five sons, of fishing and sailing, of shell-lined beaches, of peace and tranquility and brightness and joy. He thought of happier days, when Faramir had visited often and even come out on Elphir's personal boat. He thought of Faramir's unsteadiness at sea and laughing at his cousin who normally lived so far from the water.

He thought of Éowyn, of her smile, of the way she had of making everyone feel like they were welcome and that not a single thing was out of place and nothing could go wrong. He thought of seeing Faramir with her, his arm around her shoulder, with Elboron between them as a boy. He thought of Éowyn's recent pregnancy and the excitement of betting on whether it would be a boy or a girl. He thought of Elboron's proud hauteur as he was told that he would soon be a big brother, of his own wife's pregnancy, of her and Éowyn talking about the pains and the joys of childbirth.

He thought of meeting Faramir and Éowyn the day they came into Minas Tirith, of seeing how full and round Éowyn's belly had become, of the love that glowed in Faramir's eyes when he looked at her. He thought of a meeting interrupted by a young healer, an eager father dashing off to see his newborn child, an anxious Aragorn excusing himself to make sure that everything was alright, the silence of a frightened city, the bells tolling the news, the denial, the guilt, the blame…

Elphir moaned softly and looked away, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears he felt beginning to flow. The memories made him feel nauseous, and he was forced to sit down before he swooned and fainted. Now he, too, was shaking uncontrollably. His hands trembled so badly that he clenched them tightly together to make them still.

Faramir was gasping and wheezing in his sleep now. His body was taut with stress and fear, and his lips were blue from the cold. His handsome black hair was matted and scraggly, sticking to the pillow beneath his head. He was naught but a shadow of the man he had once been. Elphir hesitated and considered summoning a healer, but he knew that it would do no good. Faramir would awaken as soon as a healer touched him, and then he would refuse again, just as he had all the other times Elphir had tried to help him.

Instead, Elphir left the room in a daze, wandering down through the Tower in some kind of trance-like, hazy state of distorted reality. Twice he almost fell down a flight of stairs and broke his neck, but both times he managed to steady himself at the last minute. His guards, dressed in blue tunics fixed with the silver swan and boat of Dol Amroth, were situated at the bottom of the main staircase. Stumbling his way blindly down the steps, they helped him down the rest of the way and asked him if he was well.

"Do I look well?" Elphir snapped waspishly. The guards were too unsettled by his quick retort to say anything further. "Elessar," Elphir demanded. "Where is Elessar?"

"His Majesty has just taken breakfast in the feast hall, and we have been told that he is now working in his office."

Elphir apologized for his irascibility and thanked them before moving along down the drafty corridor in the direction of the King's office. The guards had said that he would be working, but Elphir found him only staring silently at the ceiling and smoking on his pipe. He was dressed in what appeared to be old Rangers' clothes from before the War. A mug of ale stood half-empty on the desk beside him, and his feet were propped up next to the mug. Elphir doubted that he had ever caught Aragorn in a less kingly moment than this.

"I must speak with you," said Elphir. Aragorn blew a smoke ring into the air and closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if composing himself. Finally, he turned to look at the Prince of Dol Amroth.

Elphir was exhausted. It showed in his eyes, in the way he held himself. Aragorn was tired, but Elphir looked to be on the verge of collapse. "Elphir, you should go to the Houses of Healing. You look like the picture of death."

Elphir laughed bitterly. "You think I look terrible? You haven't seen Faramir lately, have you?"

"Elphir…"

"I must speak to you, Elessar, and I will. Sending me to the Houses of Healing is only your way of trying to avoid a conversation that you don't want to have."

"No, Elphir, it is not. You truly need to see a healer. Your face is ashen, and your eyes are sunken in."

"Then I will see a healer after I have spoken with you."

Aragorn sighed and rubbed his temples. He could already feel a headache forming at the base of his skull. "Very well, Elphir. Speak."

"Faramir is dying."

Aragorn took his pipe away from his mouth and covered half of his face with one hand, looking sideways at Elphir. "Yes," he agreed slowly. "I know."

"So what are you going to do about it?"

Elphir's flat, brusque, almost rude tone was completely foreign to Aragorn. What had happened to the young, polite, cheerful prince that Aragorn had known before? Had he been so consumed by Faramir's illness that he, too, had taken on a morbid, desolate view of the world? Aragorn thought back to the letter Legolas had shown him. He remembered how King Thranduil had spoken of hope and how they must all seek to rekindle it. What hope was there left to rekindle in a man such as the one who sat before him?

"What would you have me do, Elphir?" Aragorn spoke as gently as he could. "Everyone is doing their best to help Faramir, but he does not hear us."

"He hears, he just does not listen," Elphir corrected angrily. "Not everyone is doing their best. You have done nothing at all."

If it had been anyone else, Aragorn would have been furious at the level of insubordination such an accusation represented. Coming from Elphir, he felt only a strong pang of guilt in his stomach.

Elphir wiped a hand across his lined brow. "Elessar…forgive me. My insolence is inexcusable. It is only that I…I feel as though I am at the end of my rope. I have waited and waited for almost two weeks since Éowyn's funeral, hoping that Faramir will pull himself out of this, but…" He shook his head and seemed to shrink inward with fatigue and grief. "He isn't going to…is he?"

Pity wrenched Aragorn's heart. "I did not say that, Elphir."

"You do not have to! I can see it in your eyes! I can see it in _his_ eyes!" Elphir teetered on the edge of hysteria. "The pain in his eyes is so great! How can I deny him eternal peace? Yet it is driving me mad, because I was supposed to be the one to _protect_ him when Boromir died! I promised! Boromir made me promise!"

"Boromir was always asking for too much!" Aragorn cried. "You cannot tear yourself apart over a promise made to protect a dead man's brother!"

"It is a dead _friend's_ brother!" Elphir's voice was high-pitched in his weariness. "It is a dead _friend's _husband! And Faramir is another friend who is about to die! I cannot—!" He choked. "I have watched him suffer for so long! I am the only one Boromir trusted, and I—!"

"How could Boromir have known what would happen? He could not have foreseen any of this! Look at me, Elphir! No, look me in the eye!" Aragorn grabbed Elphir's jaw and forced him to meet his eyes. "Faramir is dying, but he is _not yet dead_! We _will_ help him! I swear to the Valar above that if I must strike him and shake him and beat his senses back into him, I _will_! I will _not_ let Faramir die!"


	8. Broken Circle

Chapter VIII – Broken Circle

_They stood all around him in a circle—all of them. He stood in the center, revolving slowly so that he could see each and every one of them. Their smiling faces greeted him in the dark, like lost images from a time that had fallen away from the earth long ago. He felt himself smile upon seeing them, for they were faces he had not seen in countless years. When he tried to move towards them, though, his feet seemed anchored to the ground._

_As one, their smiles fell away, replaced by solemn grey features, as if they were set in stone. He faltered, and a sound like a dying gasp escaped his throat. He stopped revolving and stared at the figure directly in front of him. It was his mother. Her beautiful face was high and noble and young, unmarked by the calluses of age. Though she was gorgeous, she was sad. He tried to focus on her face, to capture it for himself as he had not been able to since before he could remember. The harder he concentrated on her face, the fainter it seemed to become. Finally he could see only a pair of grey eyes, and then she vanished completely._

"_Mother!" he cried in anguish, reaching towards the bare hole that she had left in the circle. A flash of quick pain seemed to strike his heart, and a splash of bright blood spattered the ground from an unseen wound. Gasping, he looked up to see that he was now facing a miniature army of men, men he had fought alongside with in hundreds of battles, men he had finally watched die on orc blades. He watched in horror as one by one they disappeared before his eyes, leaving an army-sized gap in his circle. Mablung…Damrod…Bergil…_

"_Oh, Eru, don't go! Don't go!" he screamed, clutching his head in both hands. Another trickle of blood trailed down to form a puddle beneath his feet, and the pain in the center of his heart intensified. His breath caught in his throat to see the next figure._

"_Little brother," whispered the image of Boromir, reaching towards him with one longing hand before he drifted from the circle. Denethor's cold eyes stared him down as they became all that remained of his figure. The gaps in the broken circle grew larger. Twin bloodstains joined the others on the ground. He fell to his knees._

"_Don't do this to me! Get out of my head! Get out!" He tore at his hair as if he could tear the images out of his mind if he tried hard enough._

_Imrahil…_

_His littlest son, Adrahil…_

_Éowyn._

_Agony turned his face bone-white. "Éowyn…Éowyn, don't…" He begged and pleaded, but only a single tear fell down her face, and she began to fade away. "No! No, please! Éowyn! I need you! Don't go! Don't go…" The silver gems around the collar of her midnight blue mantel glittered in the dark, and her blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears. She was the last one still standing in the circle. Her throat was gone…now her hair…now her lips…now only her eyes remained…_

_He choked on bile. "Éowyn…please… I cannot—"_

_The eyes vanished._

_A gush of his own blood spilled from the open wound in his soul, spilling to his feet. He pulled his knees in to his chest and sobbed, shivering in the dark and surrounded by the brilliant red splashes of his own blood. "Oh, Eru! Oh, Eru! You're killing me!" His body convulsed, and he clutched his stomach, spitting up a mouthful of bile. "Oh, Eru! Alone! Why alone? Why alone?" He pulled his knees closer and rocked himself back and forth. "So much death… So much death…"_


	9. When I Die

Chapter IX – When I Die

When Faramir wrenched open his eyes, it was dark. For a moment he believed that he had died. At least, he must be dying. He expected to wake up and find himself lying in pools of his own dark blood, with the dead faces peering ghost-like from the shadows. But he could hear the unmistakable sound of his own thudding heart in his chest, and the dripping splashes of blood were nowhere to be found. Was this a dream or reality? How was there any way to know?

A figure that he recognized sat beside the bed, covered by a thin blanket, snoring quietly. It was his cousin, Elphir. He could see the weariness that lined Elphir's face, and sadness welled in his eyes. Faramir lurched towards him hesitantly, fearing that Elphir, too, would soon become just another pair of eyes fading off into the distance as he watched in agony. Faramir's fingers touched real flesh on real bone on a real Elphir. He stirred but did not wake.

Such grief… It choked him, suffocated him, smothered him in a pain so complete that all else seemed to be a mere shimmering reflection of the agony that dwelt like a hard knot in his chest. He could not _breathe_ for the pain that constricted his very lungs. This was reality. Pain was reality.

Éowyn…

Faramir turned his bleak eyes towards the wooden door at one end of the room that led to the staircase, then towards the glass door at the other end of the room that led to the Tower balcony. Pale and cold, Faramir pulled himself out from under his coverlets and stepped frailly towards the glass door. He pulled up the silver latch, and the doors swung open with a gentle nudge. It was snowing; the balcony was coated with a thin dusting of white. Faramir shivered. The wind whipped mercilessly against his skin, but Faramir barely flinched at its icy sting. His gaze drifted down to look at the Citadel below.

It was a long drop.

It had always been such a long drop…

----------------

_"Can't catch me!" Faramir shrieked, darted about his room and squealing every time Boromir came close to grabbing him. Finduilas laughed weakly to see her two boys running about and making a mess of things. The laugh did not reach her eyes. Denethor would be in to scold them later._

_When he ran out of places in the room to run to, Faramir leapt through the open glass door onto the balcony where he evaded Boromir for a while longer._

_"Come on, you little—!" Boromir laughed. Finally, he caught his little brother and strained to pick him up in his arms. Faramir screamed in delight as Boromir tickled him, and he writhed in fits of giggles._

_Finduilas hurried out onto behind them. "Boys, not on the balcony!" she cried. A moment later, though, a flash of red and orange lit the sky, and from hundreds of leagues away they could see Orodruin bursting into flame beyond the Ephel Dûath. Finduilas' face became grey and drawn, and her reprimand fell silently from her lips as fear consumed her._

_Boromir struggled to lift Faramir onto the balcony railing so that he could see what Finduilas was staring at, but it was more difficult than he expected. "You're heavy!" Boromir complained as Faramir tottered on the railing. Instead of looking out at the Mountain of Fire, Faramir's eyes were fixed on the Citadel a hundred feet beneath them._

_"Boromir, let me down!" Faramir screeched, tears gathering in his eyes as his head tipped dizzily. His fear was enough to startle Finduilas out of her trance, and she snatched Faramir from the balcony just as he teetered forward. Weeping, she drew him in close to her bosom and kissed him and held him and apologized again and again, and Faramir did not know enough to understand the pain in her eyes, the haunted shadows that lingered from troubled dreams…_

_:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:_

_Faramir stood at the balcony, staring unhappily at the distant city of Osgiliath. He was thirteen now. His mother was long dead, and his father had just enlisted him in the Army of Gondor. A knock came at the door of his room, but he was hesitant to answer it. He knew that it would be his father, come to lecture him about his duty to Gondor and to his Lord Steward._

_"Faramir! Open this door!"_

_Yes, it was Denethor's voice. Faramir frowned, hesitating a second too long. He heard the jingle of keys outside the door, and Denethor burst in with rage burning on his face. Faramir was startled and backed against the rail. Had he done anything wrong besides pausing before the opening the door for his father?_

_"You're late!" snarled Denethor. "You'd like to think that you're clever, wouldn't you? Wouldn't you!" He strode to the balcony and seized his young son, holding him so that Faramir was half-hanging over the railing. Faramir cried out fearfully, but Denethor pushed him closer to the edge. "You are a man! It is time you start acting like one! Your days of weakness and excuses are over! No—more—excuses!" With each word, Denethor shook his son by the shoulders, still dangling him dangerous close to the brink of the balcony. Faramir knew that he would never been let down if he cried, so he stifled his tears and managed a terrified nod._

_"Yes, sir. I understand, sir. No more excuses, sir."_

_:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:_

_Faramir sat with his knees tucked under his chin, a safe distance away from the balcony railing, staring at the cracks in the stone. Boromir leaned casually against the railing, picking his teeth with a leftover bone from dinner. Faramir had no way of knowing that this was the last time he would see Boromir alive._

_"You know I have to go," said Boromir gently. "It is a ridiculous quest all around, but…" He shrugged helplessly. "In any case, it is not for us to decide. Father believes this…this 'weapon' will help Gondor…" A nonchalant smile graced his face. "I'm sure it's naught but rumors, Faramir. I shall return quickly. I cross my heart and hope to die."_

_Faramir shivered. "Do not say such things."_

_"Come, Faramir, it was only in jest!"_

_"Even in jest do not say it!" cried Faramir. "You have never been so far from home! Neither of us has! I wish that it was I going and not you. Then at least my heart would be at peace."_

_"Why should it not be? It is no different from any other trip."_

_Faramir shook his head and fell silent. How could he possibly explain the warning in his heart, the desperate alarm that haunted his dreams? Even now as they sat safely upon a balcony, Faramir felt a wrenching twist in his gut, like the feeling he would have if he leapt off the side of the balcony and fell in freefall the hundred feet to the Citadel. How could he explain that somehow he knew that this trip would not be like any other Boromir had ever undertaken?_

_:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:-:_

_Dressed for battle, Faramir stood once more upon the balcony, listening to the dying echo of fear that rang through the Citadel. In Osgiliath far away he could almost feel the machinations of the orcs as they ground metal, twisted metal, tortured metal. They were waiting for him. He closed his eyes. There was no fear. There was only what was necessary._

_A presence entered the room behind him, and Faramir knew without looking who it was._

_"Have you not told me that you are afraid of heights?" Mithrandir asked softly. Faramir turned and stepped away from the railing._

_"I am," he answered quietly. "Yet if I cannot master this fear, how can I expect to lead my men without fear?" His eyes hardened. "They **must** see me without fear, or all will be lost."_

_"Faramir…" Mithrandir laid a hand on Faramir's shoulder. Faramir could not bear to meet his eyes, knowing that it could be the last time he looked into them. "If you choose to do this, all will be lost no matter whether you show fear or bravery."_

_"It is not my choice, Mithrandir. It is only my duty."_

_"It is suicide. There are a dozen other captains in the Lord Denethor's council. Why must it be you?"_

_"Have you not heard?" His tone was bitter. "I must do the duty of two now, for myself and for the one who will not return." The pained shadow in Faramir's voice caused Mithrandir to tighten his clasp on Faramir's shoulder._

_"Truly, Faramir, I wish to hear your answer, not your father's. What do **you** believe?"_

_"It must be me because he knows that I have no fear." Faramir turned his eyes back to the long drop before him. He rested one hand against the railing. "He knows that I would leap from this balcony for him." His empty laugh was full of regret. "It must be me." Both of them were silent for many long minutes, both staring blankly out towards the Mountains of Shadow and the Dark Land which lay beyond. Finally it was Faramir who broke the silence._

_"When I die, you will remember me, won't you?"_

_Mithrandir watched him for a moment and answered calmly, "How can I remember a man who forgets to remember himself?"_

----------------

The frigid air caught painfully in Faramir's lungs, and his parted his lips to make breathing easier. His insides felt frozen with ice, but he was not sure it had anything to do with the snow. "Oh, Eru…" His eyes fluttered closed as he remembered his fear of heights, stumbled backwards a step away from the railing. He felt raindrop-sized tears gather, on the verge of spilling over. His face was flushed red with fever, making the pinprick touch of the snowflakes feel even colder as they landed on his skin. He coughed harshly and looked off into the distance, towards the Land of Shadows.

"Mithrandir…" he whispered, as if in prayer. "How can I remember myself when I have lost all that made me what I am?" He looked out at the world through phantom eyes, empty of all emotion but pain. "The Black Breath once nearly shrouded my heart in darkness. Look! Orodruin is dead! Barad-dûr lies in ruins! Yet the Darkness endures! I stand upon the brink…!" Unable to look out at the sight that plagued all of his worst memories, Faramir bowed his head.

"Thou shalt kill me yet, Éowyn. Thou shalt kill me yet…"


	10. ‘Is there any hope left?’

Chapter X – 'Is there any hope left?'

Elboron hated his father. He hated him and everything to do with him. Every time he thought about Faramir, his hot-headedness pushed him no more than an inch away from disowning his entire family. The only thing that held him back from this cataclysmic decision was Eldarion's constant presence and his insistence that everything would be all right in the end. This time, though, Elboron wasn't going to let Eldarion stop him.

Elboron passed the evening meal in silence. He sat to the right of his father and mother's empty seats, which meant that four chairs separated him from Eldarion: Éowyn's, Faramir's, Aragorn's, and Arwen's. Eldarion sat to his mother's left, but Elboron did not fail to catch the strained glances that Eldarion threw his way every other time there was a pause in the murmured conversation.

"Excuse me, my liege," said Elboron softly to the King, bowing politely at the waist as he rose. Aragorn looked worriedly upon his Steward's son.

"You have hardly touched your meal," he observed.

"Not to discredit the food of your table, King Elessar." Elboron's tone grew impatient as Aragorn held him up to chastise him like a small child for not eating his peas and carrots. "I have no appetite this evening, thank you." He bowed again to compensate for his moodiness and left the table. He almost bristled with anger when he heard the clink of a utensil against a plate and the quiet mumble of Eldarion excusing himself as well. He quickened his pace from the hall, but unless he wanted to run from the King's dinner table he could not evade Eldarion.

"Elboron, will you come to my chambers and share a game of _dagor serni_?" asked Eldarion kindly. He knew that Elboron loved playing _dagor serni_. It was an Elvish game of strategy that required the players to think as if they were on a battlefield attempting to capture enemy territory. Typical of the Elves, it demanded a level of foresight and adaptability that taxed the capability of humans to adjust their straight and narrow views of war tactic to look at things from a different perspective. As a soldier and a future captain and strategist, Elboron was delighted with such challenges. Today, however, it seemed that Elboron was not in the mood. He glowered at Eldarion and brushed past coolly.

"You can at least come to my room," Eldarion tried again. "We can talk, or…"

"I am going to bed," said Elboron dismissively. "I am tired. It has been a long day, and it will be a long night."

"Indeed," Eldarion was quick to agree. "My day has been likewise. I would rather not spend the evening in solitary confinement, accompanied only by the crackling of a lonely fire. Come, at least give me the comfort of a few moment's peace with you. Perhaps we can share a drink or two. If you doze off in my room, I will not wake you." Still Elboron resisted, but Eldarion wheedled just gently enough to persuade him to go.

"Very well." Elboron sounded more irritated than ever, but at least he had agreed. "I cannot stay for long, though. I am truly tired, Eldarion."

"I know. I do not ask for long, _mellon nin_."

Their judgment of 'long' differed from the norm. Elboron spent at least an hour in Eldarion's chambers, drinking brandy and playing various betting games to pass the time. By the time they remembered to play _dagor serni_, neither of them felt clear-headed enough for such a game of strategy. At that point Eldarion drew the line and poured the rest of his glass of brandy into the basin. Elboron had less self-control. Eldarion had never seen his friend drunk before that night, and now he rather regretted giving Elboron brandy at a time when he was so susceptible to weakness. At the same time, though, perhaps it would offer Eldarion a chance to catch Elboron in a more trusting, naive moment…

"I have been thinking," Eldarion began in a levelheaded tone, "and I believe that maybe you should speak with your father. I have seen him often lately, and it seems to me that he longs for your company…"

Elboron laughed. "Liar."

Eldarion sighed. Instead of being more trusting, Elboron grew only more cynical with the addition of the brandy. "If you would trust me just this once…"

"You weary me," drawled Elboron. Instead of meeting Eldarion's eyes, he sat rigidly in his chair with his head cocked haughtily to one side. Through bleary eyes, he stared at the tapestry hanging upon the wall. It was a tapestry designed to depict a scene of glory; two men stood upon a battlefield, surrounded by the enemies they had slain, holding their swords aloft in triumph. The only feeling it stirred in Elboron was of resentment. He wished that he had a battle he could throw himself into recklessly. He wished for a thousand bloody cuts and bruises, so that he would be able to forget about the internal pain for a while.

"Elboron—"

"Tell me, how many times are you going to say the same things over and over again? How many times do you think you can make empty promises before I get tired of hearing the lies behind them?"

"They are not lies," said Eldarion stiffly. "I have promised you nothing. I have only offered you my friendship, and you have turned away. If my words are empty, it is because you have made them so."

"You told me that he would not stay like this!" Elboron snarled. "You told me that it would only take time! How much time, Eldarion? It's already been more than two weeks! How much longer? A month? Two? Five? A year?"

"Everyone heals differently." Eldarion forced himself to keep his eyes level with Elboron's and his tone calm. Restraining himself was a skill he had learned from his father, although right now it was also a skill that was battling with his father's temper. "I think you are expecting too much from him too soon."

"I don't agree." Elboron's voice had turned icy. "I think he is not expecting enough of himself. He is no longer willing to be my father, so I am no longer willing to be his son."

"Please, _mellon nin_," begged Eldarion for the millionth time. "You must forgive him. I beg you to listen to someone standing outside of the matter. You are both suffering, and you are both reacting poorly to your grief! If you would take a few days to calm down instead of making rash decisions—"

"Oh, believe me, Eldarion, this is anything but a rash decision!" Elboron was half-way between crying and shouting. The look of pity on Eldarion's face infuriated him. "I have _waited_ and I have _thought_ and I have _calculated_ the consequences, and this is what I have decided! I'm not going to listen to you this time! I am going to Elessar _tonight_ and getting my name removed from my family!"

"Elboron, think for a moment! You have had more than your share of the brandy tonight! You are not in the right mind to be making these kinds of decisions!

"Don't _tell_ me what to do!"

"But you have both lost so much already! You cannot lose each other, as well!"

"I am losing nothing! I cannot bear to call myself his son any longer! If he didn't want to lose me, he wouldn't ignore me! Neither of us care, so why do you?"

"You make assumptions," Eldarion growled. "Faramir does care, and I know that you do, too. You are ignoring each other. The fault in this conflict lies in both of you! Faramir should not shut out the rest of the world, and you should not grow so angry and spiteful and cruel! Laurelindë was almost in tears yesterday when you snapped at her! You are treating all of us like we are your enemies, and we do not deserve it!"

"Then you should go away and leave me alone! I do not deserve your concern!" shouted Elboron, rising from his seat with fists clenched. Eldarion rose at the same time, towering sternly over his friend. Automatically, Elboron shrank into a defensive posture, and Eldarion's sternness faded away into sorrow.

"Have you lost so much of yourself that you cannot see that I am still your friend?" Eldarion whispered in a pained voice.

Elboron looked away, scowling. "I don't need friends."

"If you don't need friends, then what do you need, Elboron?"

Elboron stormed towards the door, purposefully knocking his shoulder into Eldarion's as he marched past. At the door, he turned. Eldarion could see the tears welling in his eyes. His voice was hoarse as he answered, "I need a mother, Eldarion." With that, he was gone.

Eldarion swore violently and buried his face in his arms.

The door creaked open slowly after a few minutes, and Eldarion wiped his tears away quickly in case it was his father. But it was Arwen, not Aragorn, who stepped through the door into Eldarion's room. Eldarion let his gaze fall in shame. He knew that his mother could see that he had been crying.

"_Do not be embarrassed to cry_," she said in soft Elvish, taking her son into her arms in a way she had not since he could sit in her lap. "_You may always shed tears for lost friends_." Eldarion tried to swallow his tears as a man must, but he found that his mother's gentle caress drew the sorrow from his heart as only a mother's touch can. Leaning his head against her shoulder, he wept for Elboron and his pain.

"_It is too much, Mother_," he whispered despairingly. "_I cannot do this. I am only seventeen years old. I know not how to heal a broken heart. I have succeeded in nothing but pushing him farther away…_" He listened to the beating of his mother's heart and tried to imagine her gone, lost to him forever. He saw her wandering aimlessly beneath golden leaves as she faded away from time and memory…in darkness and in doubt…the light of her eyes quenched…cold and grey as nightfall in winter that comes without a star…

"_Nothing is helping_," Eldarion continued. "_I am trying so hard to help, but it seems like I can only watch him get angrier and more grieved every day._" He paused, but Arwen was silent. "_Will this ever end, or will they be apart like this forever? I fear for them both…and yet…_" He growled. _"Someone should knock some sense into their heads! Both of them!_"

Arwen almost smiled. He sounded so much like his father. "_There is nothing that you can do to change the past_," she said. "_What is done, is done_. _The great Valar and the One have a plan in mind that encompasses all that occurs. What should and should not be is not for mortals to judge._"

"_Yet it is mortals who must live it_," Eldarion argued.

"_He must heal himself_." Arwen closed her eyes. "_He must find hope. We must all find it."_

"_Is there any hope left?_"

Arwen held him tighter. "_Yes, my son. There will always be hope for those who seek it._"

The door behind them burst open, and Arwen and Eldarion spun to see Elphir stagger his way into the room. Alarm and confusion flashed in his eyes.

"Elphir!" cried Arwen. "What is wrong?"

It took Elphir a few moments to catch his breath, and when he spoke, his voice was full of fear. "I-I woke just now…and Faramir is gone! I know not where he has gone! I cannot find Elessar, but the guards told me I could find you here with the Prince. Please, your Majesty… I must find him. I fear he shall…"

"Speak not of it!" Arwen exclaimed sternly. "It shall not happen! You said that you could not find the King?"

"I know where he is," said Eldarion wearily. Arwen and Elphir turned to him. "Elboron left my chambers with the purpose of speaking with _Ada_ about disowning his family. If I guess rightly, they will be in his office discussing the matter even now."

Elphir moved back towards the door, but Arwen stood up and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "I will go," she said softly. "Eldarion, stay here with Elphir and have him sit down before he collapses. I will find Elessar. He will know where to find Faramir."

"How can you be so sure?" asked Elphir. Arwen was already gone.

* * *

"Elboron, you know that it is not your father's doing that has caused this tragedy." 

Elboron said nothing in reply to the King, but glared back at him fiercely. His blue eyes and blonde hair were painful reflections of his mother's, and Aragorn's tone softened slightly.

"Elboron… You cannot allow your grief to cause you to judge your father falsely. His pain is greater than you can imagine—"

"Oh, is it?" Elboron spat, intensifying his glare. "Why is she only _his_ wife to you? She was _my_ mother, too! His pain is no worse than mine! He is a coward! A selfish coward!"

Aragorn sighed and rubbed his temples. "Elboron, your father knows the pain of losing a mother…"

"When he was _five_!"

"…as do I." Elboron's retort died on his lips, and he stared at Aragorn in shock. "My mother Gilraen has been dead for many long years. I wasvery much older thanyourself, but the pain was the same." He paused, thinking back again to Thranduil's letter. "Her last words to me were, '_Ónen i-Estel Edain, ú-chebin estel anim_.' 'I gave Hope to the Dúnedain, I have kept no hope for myself.'"

Elboron grunted. "At least you spoke with her before she died…" He bowed his head to wipe away his tears discreetly, but Aragorn noticed. The King leaned forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his desk.

"Faramir had no way of knowing what was happening," he whispered. "He asked you to wait outside. This was not a request born of spite or sadism, but of his concern for your own well being. Please do not hold this grudge against him, Elboron. He is going to need you, and you are going to need him, as well."

"If he needs me so badly, then why hasn't he spoken to me?" asked Elboron stiffly. "Why hasn't he spoken to anyone? He doesn't need my help. He needs to be put away somewhere dark and quiet and left there alone until he returns to his senses."

Elboron's hostility caught Aragorn off guard, and he leaned back again. "Don't speak like that, Elboron," he ordered gently. "You don't mean it."

"Yes I _do_," said Elboron firmly, staring Aragorn in the eye. He gripped the arms of his chair to steady himself; the brandy was making everything a little foggy. "I mean every word of it. If he isn't going to talk to anyone, then what is the point in trying to talk to him?" He looked away and shook his head. "He doesn't need me. And I don't need him, either. And with all due respect, my liege Elessar, I don't need you. I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't want your help. I only want you to remove the burden of my family's name from me."

"I cannot do that, Elboron."

"You can!" Elboron snapped. "You will not!"

"Very well. I will not."

Elboron stood and didn't bother to bow as he made his way to the door.

"Your father is dying."

Elboron paused and looked back over his shoulder. "If he is allowing himself die, consumed by his weakness, then so be it." The door opened, closed, and Elboron was gone.

Aragorn rested his head in one hand, overcome by fatigue. Between Thranduil's letter, Legolas' ruthless insistence that he speak with Faramir, the arrival of the envoy from Harad, Elboron's furious vendetta against his father, the dispersing of the Council throughout Gondor, Eldarion's despondent mood, and his nagging guilt about Faramir, Aragorn was sure that the stress had aged him several years already.

The door opened, and Arwen hurried in, breathless in her haste. Aragorn was already standing and around the desk by the time she spoke.

"_Faramir_," she whispered. "_He is missing_."

Aragorn closed his eyes. His worst fears were coming true. After days of silence and illness, Faramir was missing. At first he wanted to curse Elphir for not keeping a closer watch, but he quickly reminded himself that blaming him was unfair. It didn't matter where the fault lay. The only thing that mattered was finding Faramir…

Aragorn opened his eyes.

"_I know where he is_."

* * *

_mellon nin_

(my friend)

_dagor serni_

(battle stones)

_Ada_

(Father)

Author's Note: The Elvish game that I call _dagor serni _here is based on the Japanese game called Go. It is similar to chess in that it is a game of strategy, but at the same time it is nothing like chess because the object is to secure territory, _not_ to capture your opponent's pieces.


	11. Shattered

Chapter XI – Shattered

The Citadel had never seemed so deathly quiet.

It must have been close to midnight now, yet even in the middle of the night Aragorn was accustomed to hearing the whistle of the wind, the hoots of nocturnal birds, the drunken laughter of soldiers who had stayed out drinking a little too late, and the rustle of the trees above on the mountain. Now it sounded as if Minas Tirith was holding its breath, as if it was afraid of something dreadful about to happen. It was the deep breath before the plunge.

The entrance to the Houses of Healing was lit by a single bobbing lantern, and Aragorn focused on it with single-minded purpose. The high hedges that ringed the gardens were dark and foreboding in the black night. Sheets of silent snow were being dumped steadily on top of Aragorn's head. With each breath he drew, it felt as if a knife was lodged between his ribs. The night grew only more wintry and frozen. Murky storm clouds drifted overhead, and Aragorn saw something then that he had never believed possible. A flash of white lightning split the sky, lighting up the Citadel for a flickering moment, followed a few seconds later by a roar of thunder. The snow continued to fall thickly at his feet, and he stared in disbelief at the sky. Lightning in a snow storm?

The light under the doorway of the Houses of Healing was dark, but Aragorn pounded on the door with his fist until he saw a candle sputter to life. An elderly woman answered the door with a smile and a bow as she stepped aside to permit the King entry.

"Good evening, my liege," she said cheerily. "A frightful night, this, is it not? There has scarcely been a storm in my memory as wild as this! Although, I remember one day in my childhood when the enter city was covered in three feet of snow and ice! That was quite a day, as I remember. We all had to dig ourselves out of our homes, for the snow was too deep to get out!"

"Ioreth," said Aragorn sternly. He almost could not believe that this old woman was still alive. "Show me to the Warden. I must see him immediately."

"Certainly, your Majesty," agreed Ioreth brightly. She shuffled with painful slowness down the long entrance corridor and then along another, narrower hall. At the end of this stood a door carved above with the symbol of the healers: a flame lit in the heart of the Tree of Gondor.

"Here you are, Sire," said Ioreth, sounding pleased with yourself. "If there's ever anything I can do, just you let me know. I remember when Gandalf first came here, trying to help young Lord Faramir, and I told him that the hands of the King are the hands of a healer. Well, I sure turned out to be right, didn't I?"

"Goodnight, Ioreth." Aragorn knocked on the wooden door as Ioreth retreated down the hall. Very slowly, the Warden opened the door.

"I have been expecting you, your Majesty," said the Warden softly. "Come." Without a word more, the Warden moved past Aragorn and led him through a maze of twisting turns. After they passed beneath an elaborately carved archway, Aragorn recognized the path they were taking, but he remained silent.

The Warden paused before a wooden door, grief etched on his face. "I-I was unsure of what to do, my liege. I have not the heart to tell him to leave…but you must help him. He is not well, Sire."

"I will take care of it."

The door into the birthing ward swung open noiselessly, and the King stepped in. The Warden gestured limply towards a bed in the far corner, the only occupied bed. On it, curled upon the covers and stroking the linen sheets with a trembling hand, lay Faramir, the Steward of Gondor.

This was the first time Aragorn had seen Faramir since the night of the funeral, and now that he had seen him again he was frightened by what he saw. Faramir was shivering from the draft that came in through the open window at the end of the room, yet sweat was dripping from his forehead. His face was grey and expressionless, and if it hadn't been for the tiny movement of his hand it would have been difficult to determine that he was alive. His spirit was dead. His hope was dead.

"Faramir." Aragorn stepped haltingly to stand beside the bed. Again, as before, Faramir showed no sign that he had heard. The Warden hesitated, and Aragorn dismissed him with a look. "Faramir," Aragorn repeated, sterner in tone. It hurt him to be so harsh with his friend, but there was nothing else that would make him respond. Faramir closed his eyes. "Get _up_."

Fresh tears stained Faramir's face. "I-I cannot," he whispered raggedly.

It was a broken man that lay before him. Pity filled his heart. Why must it be Faramir? If it had been any other man, Aragorn could have borne this with composure. He was being crushed slowly, agonizingly, by Faramir's pain. Faramir did not deserve this.

"Faramir, it was not a request! I am commanding you: Get up." Aragorn's voice was firm, but his eyes were misty with grief for his friend.

"I cannot…my liege."

Aragorn seized Faramir by his shoulders, yanked him up off of the bed, and shook him roughly. "Listen to me," Aragorn ordered, though not unkindly. It concerned him that Faramir did not struggle with him. He just swayed there like a rag doll, with barely the strength to stand.

"Listen." He was pleading this time. "You've just lost your wife, but you still have a son who needs you very much and a newborn daughter! They will need you to be there, now more than ever! Your duty right now is to them, not to yourself!" Faramir looked away, and Aragorn's face softened. "You are grieving, Faramir, and I understand, but—"

"No you don't!" Faramir snapped ferociously, twisting out of Aragorn's grip and backing against the wall. "Go away! Leave me alone! You don't understand at all! You have no idea!" Aragorn was silent, and after a moment the anger on Faramir's face crumbled into sorrow. He covered his face with his hands and sobbed. "I'm sorry, Aragorn," he whispered. "Forgive me…forgive me…"

Aragorn was grief-stricken by the pain that engulfed his friend. Faramir's mourning robes, deep black in color, hung on his skeletal frame loosely. Aragorn could swear that his cheekbones protruded too sharply from his face. Faramir shook uncontrollably, and the horrible, ghostly look fixed on his face was beyond words. It was the look of a man who had not eaten or slept in days—the look of a man who no longer cared about what happened to him.

"You are not well, Faramir. Come away, leave his place, or death will haunt you to the end of your days."

"It haunts me." Faramir shivered, his hollow eyes dark and distant. "It haunts me…" He let out a low moan and began to fall forward as his strength gave out. Aragorn leapt to catch him and steadied him anxiously. "Why can I still see their faces? So many faces…"

Aragorn's face paled. "You can see Éowyn?"

"I see them all… They won't leave me alone… They give me no _peace_!" Faramir's voice grew hysterical, and Aragorn tightened his grip. "I can see her face, as if she is still alive! I can hear her voice! She stands on the brink of Darkness Unescapable! They gather around in a circle and taunt me with their eyes! Am I insane? Please, Aragorn, tell me I am not insane! Please! Please…"

Faramir broke down into sobs, and Aragorn hugged him tightly into his chest. The next thing that escaped Faramir's pale lips was the last two words he had ever expected to hear from his friend:

"Help me…"

Aragorn could do nothing but hold Faramir as he sobbed and wept, his thin body racked by painful gasps of breath. He was utterly shocked by the degree of Faramir's emotional collapse. If he had not held Faramir in his own arms, he never would have believed that Faramir was capable of such heart-rending sobs. How had Aragorn allowed this to happen? How was Faramir reduced to pleading for his help? He should have been watching his friend more closely than ever to ensure that this did not happen!

"I am so sorry, Faramir," Aragorn murmured. His guilt and remorse for not going to Faramir sooner was pounding in his head, blaming him for the severity of Faramir's hurt. Faramir did not want to die! He was only imprisoned by his own pain and was struggling desperately to escape. "I am so sorry… I should never have left you alone for so long."

"Make it go away…" begged Faramir, shielding his face with his hands as if from invisible blows. "Her voice…their faces…make them all go away… They mock me and torture me so… I will die of the torment before I can even save myself from the Darkness… Oh, Eru! They are killing me! All of them, killing me!"

"I am here, _mellon nin_. I am here. I will not let you fall so far."

"So much death! So much blood! My blood, Aragorn, spilled next to theirs! Eru, why do I see such things before my eyes? Such nightmarish things! Is it real? Am I bleeding? Am I dying, Aragorn? What is real? Tell me what is real, please!"

"What you see is falsehood and falsehood alone," Aragorn told him sternly. "You are not bleeding. You are not dying. You are here, and you are safe. Your friends are here with you. We will not let you die, Faramir." More to himself than to Faramir, he whispered, "Eru willing, you will not die…"

"And yet my dreams say otherwise…" Faramir closed his eyes and clung tighter to the one who seemed right now to be his only friend. "It is only a matter of time before I am drawn into the Void, as well, cast forever into darkness, left to decay upon some broken battlefield where the ground is stained red before my feet…"

"Hush, Faramir. Speak not of such things," Aragorn soothed. "It shall not happen. I promise you, it shall not happen. All will be well again."

Faramir shook his head, shivering again. "You cannot promise, for it is not you who controls my dreams."

"It is in dreams that she speaks to you?"

"Yes…yes, in dreams…" Faramir shuddered violently, and Aragorn held him tightly again. "It has been so long…since I-I had these nightmares… I-I thought that they had gone away and would haunt me no longer… It is no different from the nightmares of my childhood…only the faceless men and women of Númenor have been replaced by the ones I love…and…" He trailed off in agony and could not continue, and Aragorn suddenly understood.

"Faramir…did you have these dreams _only_ as a child?"

"No…not only. In the last few weeks before the end of the War…they began to get worse again… The same nightmare often plagued me as I waited for your return to Minas Tirith."

"Then I believe I understand your dreams, Faramir. Listen carefully to what I am about to say." Aragorn paused to make sure that Faramir was listening and continued, "These dreams… They only seem to afflict you at times when are overwrought with grief over the loss of one you love. You have a gift, Faramir, and it is a marvelous gift. You have the ability to foresee the future, read the minds of men, and receive visions both wonderful and terrible. I sensed it in you long ago, but you have never spoken to me of the extent of this gift."

"It does not seem like a gift to me," Faramir said miserably. "My mother had it, and it was what killed her."

Aragorn pulled away from Faramir, shocked. He had always assumed that Faramir was given his gift through Denethor, who was descended from a higher line of Númenorean blood. Although, the Princes of Dol Amroth were rumored to have been sired by Elvish ancestry… "Who told you that, Faramir?"

"Father did. He told me that she could see the devastation that the Dark Lord of Mordor would wreck upon Gondor, and she fell into grief and terror at the sight of it. Eventually she fell so far as to death." Faramir paused in anguish, and Aragorn waited patiently for him to continue. "Father told me that I must never use my ability, for he said that it would destroy me as it had destroyed Finduilas."

"He was wrong, Faramir," said Aragorn. "By repressing your gift, you have kept it pent up inside. It would seem that it can only escape when you are weakened by grief. Your mother died when you were very young, which explains the nightmares in your childhood. At the end of the War, you lost both your brother and your father."

"That does not explain how the dreams disappeared after each loss. I want to know how to make them go away again, Aragorn." Faramir's eyes were desperate, and Aragorn put his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"They only went away after you met someone who helped you to move past the pain," he explained. "In your childhood…" He paused and threw his mind back over everything Faramir had told him about his youth. At first he could think of no one who could have come into his life to alleviate his grief, but then it hit him. "Gandalf. Mithrandir, as you call him. When you first met him, you were already eleven or twelve, weren't you? If I am right, your nightmares disappeared shortly after meeting him."

Faramir blinked, as if contemplating what Aragorn had said. "I suppose so."

"Of course, after the deaths of Boromir and Denethor, you found Éowyn." Aragorn gave him a tight smile, encouraging him to be strong. "She chased away the ghosts for you that time. You cannot continue to rely on others to save you from yourself, Faramir. Unless you open yourself to your gift and allow yourself to use it more frequently, you will continue to be haunted by the nightmares of your past."

"Aragorn…I do not know how to use my gift." Tears sprang back into Faramir's eyes. "I have never known. I only knew that when I received these visions, they were terrible and full of death and blood and pain."

"Those are not the only things you will see when you learn to use your gift as it was meant to be used," Aragorn whispered. "I will help you learn to control it, Faramir. I promise you, I will make sure that you are never cut down by these nightmares again."

"How can you teach me to use my gift?"

Aragorn smiled. "Did you forget that I was raised in an Elven household?"

Faramir stared at him, half-frightened, half-trusting, as if he was afraid to hope that Aragorn could truly help him to rid himself of his nightmares forever. "Aragorn…she's never coming back. Éowyn's never coming back."

"No, she is not," Aragorn agreed quietly. "But your friends are not going anywhere."

* * *

_mellon nin_

(my friend)


	12. Epilogue: ‘Aurë entuluva’

Epilogue – 'Aurë entuluva.'

High upon the wall of Minas Tirith, within the gardens of the Houses of Healing, Faramir the Steward of Gondor looked out over the Fields of the Pelennor from the very spot where he and Éowyn had looked together. The wind was strong, just as it had been that fateful day, blowing through their hair and intertwining them in the breeze. If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that he could feel her presence beside him, wrapped in a warm mantle, trusting him to guard her against the Darkness.

"Father."

Faramir opened his eyes slowly and turned, seeing his son Elboron standing a short distance away, waiting. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was irritated at best.

"You asked to see me." His voice grated on Faramir's nerves. There was so much hatred and anger behind it.

"Yes," said Faramir softly. "I-I wish to apologize…for all that I have done to hurt you. I had no right to put my own needs before yours. You should always come first in my life." He paused awkwardly. "Elessar…told me that you seek to remove your name from my family. Elboron, if there is any way you can forgive me…I promise you, I will never, ever put myself first again. I cannot change the pain that I have caused you, but I can ensure that I will never hurt you again."

"Sometimes promises aren't enough." Elboron's voice was blunt and sharp. His words seemed to strike Faramir like a blow. "Sometimes people can't just forgive."

Faramir closed his eyes. "Elboron, I loved your mother very much. She was…the bravest, strongest woman I have ever met. You are so much like her, Elboron. You are so strong, so fiery. I…I am not like you, Elboron. I wish that I could be, but I am not. I do not have your strength or your fire. I am weak, and sometimes I make horrible mistakes that I regret with every part of my being. Please…" Faramir's eyes bored into Elboron's, desperate, begging. "Our…our family is shattered, Elboron… Please, do not break my heart further. I need you. The babe will need you. Please."

Elboron was shaking now, and Faramir took a step nearer his son. Elboron did not move away. "Father," he said, choking on his words, "if you need me, why did you not say so before? Why did you…?"

Faramir put his hand gently on Elboron's shoulder and squeezed. As he sought an answer, he looked to the heavens for help and guidance. No answer would ever bear so much weight as this one. "Because…I believed that I could never…never live without your mother. I was haunted by her, by the memory of her, by the loss and the grief, and I…" Faramir closed his eyes, struggling with tears. "I forgot…just how much like your mother you have become. I forgot that you can be my shining star…just as your mother was."

Unshed tears shimmered in Elboron's over-bright eyes for a moment longer before spilling over and streaking down his cheeks. Faramir pulled his son into his arms, and they held each other as they both wept, overcome by their pain but comforted by one another.

"Father…" whispered Elboron, sounding again like the small boy that Faramir had once rocked in his lap. "I never got to see her… I'm never going to see her ever again… She's…she's gone… Oh, Papa, she's gone!"

Faramir's arms tightened around his son, and he repeated the words that Aragorn had whispered to him. "Yes, Elboron. She is…gone… But I am not going anywhere. I am here for you, and I promise that I always will be."

"Faramir?"

He looked up, eyes still glistening with tears, and saw Arwen moving towards them through the gardens with a tiny infant in her arms. Aragorn, Eldarion, and Elphir were by her side. A twinge of pain flashed through his heart.

"Would you like to hold your daughter?" Arwen asked gently.

Without answering, Faramir pulled away from Elboron's embrace and moved towards her. Arwen held out the child and laid the babe carefully into her father's loving arms. Faramir looked down at her shining grey eyes and her little, grasping fingers and the tufts of raven hair atop her head. Though she resembled her father, Faramir could see all of Éowyn's beauty and grace reflected in the small girl that yawned and reached up to grab his tunic.

Eldarion moved to stand beside Elboron, and the two friends exchanged a glance of sorrow, apology, and forgiveness. Arwen stood back beside Aragorn. Both of them could see the sad joy that flickered to life in Faramir's eyes as he pulled his daughter closer in to his chest. Elphir looked with weary adoration on the sight of the infant girl resting safely and cozily in Faramir's arms for the first time since birth. He had not failed in his promise to Boromir. Though his wounds went deep, the gleam of light in Faramir's eyes was the gleam of healing, the gleam of hope.

"She's so...beautiful," whispered Faramir, his eyes welling with fresh tears. "Has she no name?" Faramir looked up at Arwen, then Aragorn. "Did Éowyn not…?"

"She was not given the chance," Aragorn murmured.

"The task has fallen to you, Faramir," Arwen added with a soft smile.

Faramir looked down at his daughter, who had been brought into the world at the very same time that his beloved wife was taken from him. Éowyn had sacrificed everything to give their little girl life. The babe was Éowyn's, matching her in beauty and in the loveliness of her soul. No name would do justice to the magnitude of the gift Éowyn had given her daughter. No name but one.

Without looking up, Faramir cleared his throat and said, "She shall be called Nimhiril."

Aragorn and Arwen smiled at each other. Elboron quivered on the verge of tears again, but Eldarion's firm hand was enough reassurance to steady him. Elphir put one hand over his heart, weeping both for happiness and for sorrow. A weak smile worked its way to Faramir's lips.

"Thy daughter shall be like unto thee, Éowyn, my love." Tears crept down Faramir's face to her the sound of his own voice. "Nimhiril, the White Lady of Gondor, forevermore."

* * *

Éowyn's grave was dark and lonely before dawn. Once again, Faramir knelt beside her, head bowed, tears flowing down his face, but this time he was smiling. 

"I must let go of you now," he whispered painfully. "You know…you know that I will never forget you. I miss you…so much…" He choked for a moment and then laughed quietly to recover. "I will always love you. Every moment of every day, I will love you. I can never lose you as long as I remember you for who you were, not what my dreams say you have become..." He stroked away dirt from the name on the tombstone and laughed again as he spoke her name.

"Éowyn. My dear love…" It became more and more difficult for him to smile through his tears. "Our children are well, Éowyn. Both of them. The little girl I have named Nimhiril, White Lady,for her beauty is matched only by your own. Elboron becomes more like you every day… He is growing into a man now. He misses you…" A great sob swelled in Faramir, and his smile grew more strained. "We all miss you… But I know…I know that it is not in darkness that you have come to dwell, but in light. I will see you again…some day…" He caressed the _simbelmyne _blossom that grew atop her grave. "Éowyn, Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, in this hour I do not believe that any darkness will endure!"

He knelt alone in the dark for a long time, swallowing his tears and trying to remember above all else that he had not truly lost her. A gentle hand fell upon Faramir's shoulder, and he looked up to see Legolas standing over him.

"The Steward of Gondor has been dearly missed," the Elf commented lightly. "Ithilien has great want of your leadership."

"I am sorry, my friend, that I have not been there to give it. That among other things."

Legolas shook his head. "There should be no apologies from bereaved family. No one has spurned you for mourning this terrible loss." There was a long moment of silence, and finally Legolas spoke again. "Estel tells me that you have visions of those you have lost. It is a rare gift and one that should not be put to such waste."

Faramir looked at Legolas in astonishment. "Why is it that Aragorn is called so by both you and the Queen? '_Estel_'? 'Hope'?"

"Yes. It was the name given to him by Elrond when he was brought to Rivendell as a small child to be raised as the Elflord's own. It was also the name he bore most often when he met both myself and the Lady Arwen."

"Why '_Estel_'?"

"He was the last chieftain of his people. His father had just been slain at a young age. They had great need of hope in such times. My own father says that the name Estel is what Aragorn is; he is hope personified, the last barrier between lost souls and the Darkness beyond."

"I doubt it not," whispered Faramir. "He has been my saving gracetwice now..."

The sun began to rise in the east, and the first rays of light lit the tombstone with a golden glow so beautiful that Faramir's breath was lost at the sight of it. Legolas turned his head to gaze evenly towards the sunrise, a twinkle in his eye.

"It is strange to see the sun rise again when my heart has been in the black of night for so long, it seems," whispered Faramir. His breathed fogged in the chill air, and he shivered. Legolas removed his cloak and draped it over Faramir's shoulders.

"_Do you remember what I told you, Faramir?_" he asked softly in Elvish.

Faramir stood, turning his gaze towards the east as well. "_No, my friend. I do not remember._"

Legolas smiled. "_Aurë entuluva._ Day will come again."

_--- i met. ---_

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Author's Note: Thank you SO much, all of you! Your reviews have been a constant inspiration for me, and your support has made "Shattered" my very first completed story! Have no fear, however, for this story does not end here. Keep an eye out for the sequel, called "Mending", coming soon. Thank you again! May the hair on your toes never fall out!

- Minyasta

"_Elen sila lumenn' omentielvo_."


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